


Saudade

by PhantomWarrior99



Series: Suadade [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Warnings at top of chapters, a lot of triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWarrior99/pseuds/PhantomWarrior99
Summary: Isaac Gates is soldier of fortune, a man whose morals have become so warped by time and war that he's lost his humanity. What happens to a broken man when his brother betrays him?





	1. This Isn't What I Wanted

**Before the damage is done.**

**This isn't what I really want.**

\-------------

"I never wanted this. I never wanted to lose them. Si--Mason. Sam."

_Goddammit, Sam. Why'd you do it? Why did you side with them? Why'd you let them kill me?_

_No, you're not dead. You're still breathing, you don't know why or how, but you're still alive._

Isaac strained to lift his head, every muscle in his body screamed for him to remain motionless. He'd fallen for what felt like an eternity, the chasm boundless, mist swallowing him up before his back hit sharp rock. He'd thought he'd snapped his neck, bashed the base of his skull on the stone beneath him. He waited, his breath fogging over the T-formation of his visor.

One beat. Two. An agonizing third before he mustered the strength to roll onto his side. His body protested, tendons shifting, bones cracking, grinding pitifully against cartilage. He pushed himself to a seated position, prying the helmet from his head, discarding it the moment it cleared his forehead.

"Why am I not dead?" His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, raspy from the scream he'd released during his descent. His trembling fingers hovered over the panel on his wrist, hand shaking too violently to properly activate the band. His fingers curled into a fist, squeezing the muscles into a calm submission before he attempted to activate the screen.

"Armor lock is intact, thank you, sketchy black market dealer." he murmured, checking the other systems in his armor. The explosions in the distance tore his attention from his work, "What now?!"

He was on his feet, snatching his helmet up from the bedrock and sliding it over his head. He stumbled over uneven ground towards the base of the chasm he'd fallen into, spurring his aching frame into a slow climb. By the time he'd reached the upper levels, he could see the carnage in the distance. Bodies everywhere, mercenary and New Republic soldiers alike lay scattered across the battlefield.

_Dead. All dead. Only survivor, all alone. No. No, not alone--Sam's alive, Sam's okay. Find--_

Isaac snapped his head to the left, the instinct fading just as quickly as it appeared. He cast a wary glance skyward, to the Communication Temple, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as Hargrove's ship stared down the structure. His attention was drawn back to the battlefield, the survivors, the simulation troopers, the Freelancers, the traitor--they'd all be gone in a matter of hours.

_You never should have betrayed me, Locus. Now, you pay the price._

His eyes caught sight of an abandoned Ghost to his right, just beyond the mounds of fallen soldiers. He could hear the explosions in the distance as he scrambled from his cover, stumbling over craters and corpses until he fell against the cold metal of the machine.

Limbs struggled to support him as he heaved himself onto the seat. The adrenaline had begun to wear off, jarred muscles began to tremble, the impact of the fall weighing heavily on his chest, the searing pain in his ribs reminding him of the damage done.

He hugged a forearm to his chest, bracing the aching bones in the only realistic means possible.

A Ghost required two hands to drive, but he'd improvised before, during the war. He could almost see the memory play out in front of him, Sam assassinating the Elite in charge of guarding the vehicles, the two clamoring onto vehicles to escape the bomb they'd planted in the heart of the Covenant's base.

They made it, the two of them had escaped the explosion, certain death, but now--now he'd survive. Alone. He'd walk away and Sam--Sam would pay for his betrayal, he would pay the ultimate price. They were brothers after all, they'd known one another for a few years before they'd enlisted, when they were nothing more than kids trapped on a backwater planet, orphans left to the mercy of the universe.

At one point, he had Liz, in their broken excuse for a home, he'd always had his twin sister. Until he didn't, until he lost her to one abusive parent on a planet light years away, until he was dragged from her after the divorce, until he was certain he'd never see her again.

Then he met Sam and he was positive that he would always have Sam, and now, he'd lost his brother. Now he's alone. Again. And he has no idea what he's going to do now.

No fucking idea.

\-----------------

It's months later when he's downing another beer that he notices the headlines.

**_Reds and Blues Strike Again_ **

He scoffs, turning his attention back to the beer and data pad in front of him. He'd come so close, so damn close to tracking Sam down. They'd all survived Chorus, Hargrove had failed. Shocker.

"If you want something done right," he murmured, scowling at the file in front of him, reaching absently for the bottle. His fingers curled around the cold glass, sliding the beverage towards him, inches from his lips before spasming tendons released, sending the bottle crashing to the floor, contents spilling over Isaac.

"Shit." He slammed his trembling fist onto the table, disgust etched into his features as he pushed away from shattered glass and stood, knocking his chair to the floor with a loud thud.

The thunderous collision with the wooden floor scared him more than it should, a distant echo of a war once fought.

He was poised for a retreat, as if the explosion hadn't shredded everything in its path, as if he were still a soldier in the midst of a bloody conflict.

He waited. One moment. A second. A terrifying third before his eyes fell to the wooden chair beside him.

"War's over." He reminded himself, touching his temple gingerly, memories misting away with a shake of his head until it's quiet, until there's nothing but the monologue of the television filling the empty room.

Isaac gathered himself, pushing brown locks back off of his forehead, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. He snatched the data pad from the table, ignoring the shattered glass and pooling beer on the floor as he made his way to the worn couch, collapsing into the safe haven and turning his attention back to the data pad. His hands trembled slightly, nerves on edge as the surge of adrenaline dwindled, as his heart gradually slowed and his breathing returned to some semblance of normal.He laid a hand over a tight muscle in his ribs, gently massaging the tissue into a state of release.

He cursed the nearly healed rib, the soreness it caused anytime his heart rate picked up, a relentless knot in his side until he forced it into submission.

His fingers absently dug into marred tissue, gaze locked on the streaming data before him, skimming for indications of his former partner. It wasn't like Sam to lay low, Isaac had discovered that tendency after knowing him for less than 2 minutes.

His gaze was torn away from data pad, catching the phrase "Chorus" from the news on the far wall. He hauled himself to a seated position, snatching the remote from the worn table in front of him, cranking the volume.

_Reports continue to pour in regarding the stalemate between the UNSC and Chorus. The planet has been ravaged by a civil war spanning over three decades, until it was brought to an abrupt conclusion a little less than a year ago. Since the war's conclusion, Chorus has been the center of interplanetary conflict, stubbornly defying the wishes of the UNSC to rejoin Earth and her colonies, opting, instead, to remain independent._

_Peace talks have come to a halt after a series of terrorist attacks by a group of simulation troopers, the Reds and Blues of Project Freelancer. The UNSC suspects Chorus employed these soldiers to protect the planet._

_Current President, Vanessa Kimball, has denied all allegations of association with the Reds and Blues, claiming, "Chorus has not contributed to these attacks in any way, and will offer full cooperation until these terrorists are apprehended. At which point, I hope the peace talks can continue."_

_Back to you--_

Felix paused the screen, staring quietly at the frozen frame of Kimball, the throbbing in his ribs long forgotten. He settled against the tattered leather of the sofa, brown eyes studying the President of Chorus. The war, surprisingly, had been a simpler time. He'd had Sam, hell, he'd even had Vanessa, a woman of incredible strength.

The corner of his mouth turned upward in a gentle smile, recalling their attempts at a relationship. The late night talks--most of which related to strategizing, although, he had managed to redirect her attention to other topics. The smile broadened at the rarely reciprocated flirtations. Granted, he'd been playing the role of trusted mercenary, but--something about what they had hadn't been a deception. Sure, he'd had to lie to her, but, there were times he told the truth, specifically about how he felt.

She never responded, word of those Red and Blue morons had reached her. Then--then everything went downhill from there.

Isaac heaved a frustrated sigh, snatching the remote up and shutting off the television. He tossed the data pad onto the table, there would be time enough to find Sam tomorrow.

He'd been off the radar for months, which made it borderline impossible to find him. Isaac knew him, they'd spent years together, both during the war and later as partners.

Sam would slip up. He always did, sooner than later.

\----------------


	2. And Then There Were Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He has a family, Felix. Let him go.” Isaac survives the fall from the Communication’s Tower and recalls their final mission with Mason.
> 
> The untold tale of the termination of the mercenary trio.

It's a time he never wanted to remember, a time when everything was simpler, when he had a family, or, something resembling a family.

He could see the memories whenever he closed his eyes. Late night recon missions, witty exchanges over bottles of beer, even dinner with Mason and his family. A soft smile spread across Isaac's lips, quietly remembering Sam's first encounter with Mason's oldest daughter, Melody.

She couldn't have been more than three, an energetic, curious child who shared Mason's midnight black hair and her mother's emerald eyes. She'd wandered up to Sam, hoisting herself into his lap. Isaac could envision the look of discomfort on Sam's face, eyes widened in surprise, expression reduced to complete and utter confusion as the girl began the braid his hair.

He could remember Megan Wu's quiet chiding of the child and Mason's outburst of laughter

.Sam had simply remained motionless, too stunned to react and unwilling to disrupt the child's efforts.

"Can I get you anything else?" The sudden reappearance of the bartender thrust him from his thoughts. He slowly glanced up from his third bottle of beer, drained blue eyes dragging themselves away from the deep brown bottle to the concerned gaze above him.

He shook his head, struggling for balance as he fumbled for his wallet in his back pocket. His fingers clumsily slipping the bills out of the leather folds, lazily tossing them onto the bar, before snatching his drink up and heading towards the door.

"Uh, sir? You forgot your change--"

Isaac waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder as he stumbled out of the bar and started the short trek back to the abandoned apartment.

He was tired, so very tired of it all. The fighting, the nightmares, the bitter reminders that his best friend, the man he'd so cautiously named his brother, had betrayed him. Chorus had been a hell all its own, an agonizing reminder of the war he'd thought they'd left behind.

_hey._ No, he was alone. Again. It wasn't they. It was  _him_. It would always be him.

First, Mason had left. He could still hear Sam defending him, _"Damn it, Felix, he has a family-"_

_"--and what about us? We're not good enough for him? We're not his family?"_

_"I don't expect you to understand. Just--let him go. His duty is to his wife and children."_

He'd been wrong, of course. Mason had a responsibility. It wasn't just to Megan and his kids, it was to him and Sam too. Hadn't they been a family all their own before Mason met his wife?

First Mason, now Sam. Now--now he was all alone. Hell, hadn't been the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

He stumbled his way up the stairs, discarding the now-empty beer bottle into the lobby. He crashed through the aged door, shuffling along until he'd collapsed onto the worn mattress, until his heavy head met firm cushion, until his eyes drooped shut, begging sleep to overtake him. Until his mind sent him back to that fateful day.

Their final mission

\-----------------

"Can we please just shoot him?"

"We don't get paid if he's dead, Felix." Sam returned shortly.

Isaac sagged against his seat, arms folded across his chest, irritation etched into his features.

"We're almost there anyway. It would be a waste of ammo at this point." Mason remarked, eyes drifting from the slim mercenary in the passenger seat back to the road.

"It'd be more satisfying." Isaac grumbled, scowling ahead.

"You're only saying that because he mocked you." Mason returned, a hint of humor gracing his tone as he turned into the police station.

"Unless you have a better idea to cover equipment costs, I suggest you keep your weapon pointed away from him." Sam supplied, climbing out of the car to retrieve their captive.

Isaac waved his hands sarcastically, mimicking his partner's comment with an eye roll. Mason smirked slightly, nudging his shoulder before climbing out of the car to assist Sam.

The process had been surprisingly quick. Their captive, a man convicted of multiple homicides, had been worth a large amount of money. It wasn’t until they reached the docking bay that the silence was broken.

"So, last mission was a unanimous success, huh?" Mason slung the massive duffle bag over his shoulder, avoiding their eyes, looking anywhere but his partners.

Sam nodded his silent agreement, checking the equipment in his bag, ensuring the weaponry was secured for travel.

"We'll find another one soon enough." Isaac returned, oblivious to Mason's hesitance, "I caught wind of a company looking for some mercs--something about a planet and alien technology--"

Mason slammed the trunk shut, catching the slim mercenary's attention, "You all right, Wu?"

His fingers tightened around the strap slung across his shoulder, eyes darting to Sam for help. The solemn expression etched into Sam's features mixed with a quiet nod provided little assurance, yet communicated just enough to urge him to speak. He redirected his gaze back to Isaac, "There's not going to be another job, Gates."

Isaac arched an eyebrow, leaning against the door of the car, arms crossed expectantly across his chest, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm retiring. Megan's got another kid on the way, and--she needs me." Mason returned quietly, grey eyes darting to the cold cement beneath him.

Isaac's eyes darted to Sam, who met his gaze coolly, all emotion drained from his eyes, nothing more than a solemn stare. "You knew about this?"

"We've discussed it." Sam returned evenly, voice unflinching.

Isaac stiffened, surprise quickly replaced with rage, "And you didn't tell me. We're  _partners_.  _We_.  _Fucking_.  _Communicate_."

"Gates--Isaac, we didn't want to--" Mason began.

Isaac cut him off, "What the hell, Wu? How long ago was this decided?" His gaze flickered between his partners, his brothers, the only family he'd known in years.

Mason scratched the back of his head, eyes diverted to the cement, "A couple months--"

"A couple of months...that's fucking fantastic!" He paced away a few feet, turning suddenly to shatter the car window with a fury-induced blow, "Dammit!" He spun back to the face the two mercenaries, dismissing the dull throbbing in his hand, "We're partners. I don't care if it's minuscule details, we communicate! You're the one who taught us that, Wu, you said that partners communicate and what did you do? Oh, wait," Isaac allowed a callous laugh, cold, echoing in the quiet parking lot, "you communicated. You told Ortez over there, but not me. What? You don't trust me?"

"Gates--" Mason managed one word before Sam jumped in, thoroughly fed up.

He stepped past Mason, hands gripping the v-neck of Isaacs dress shirt, tugging him close, "We didn't tell you because we knew this is how you would react. You're selfish. You're stubborn. We needed you to be willing to do your job, if you had known, you would have fought us the entire mission. We would have never caught that murderer because you wouldn't have wanted to let Siris go."

He shoved the stunned mercenary away, his back meeting the car after a few short, stumbling steps. "It was information that was on a need-to-know basis, and you didn't need to know until now. Sam's voice dropped, a sharp echo in the night.

Isaac started to respond, "I wouldn't have--"

"Wouldn't have what? Wouldn't have pushed Siris to stay? Wouldn't have altered the events of this mission? Wouldn't have fought this?" Isaac fell silent, eyes directed to the ground, unwilling to meet either man's gaze.

Sam watched him sternly for a moment before turning to face Mason.

"Take the ship. Felix and I will find another means of transport." His voice was cold, if Mason didn't know any better, he'd dare suggest tired or resigned.

"You sure?" Mason's question sounded almost tentative, gaze flickering past Sam to Isaac's defeated form.

Sam gave a quiet nod of confirmation, "Go." He held out his hand, giving Mason's hand a solitary shake, a wordless goodbye.

Mason cast one final glance towards Isaac, managing a quiet phrase, "See you around, Gates."

He was met with only silence and a cold shoulder. Isaac sunk to the ground, glaring at the cement silently as he listened to the retreating boots on pavement. He sat in silence as Sam turned to face him, snatching his bag from the backseat and tossing it to the lean mercenary on the ground.

"Grab your gear. We're leaving." Sam commented shortly, lugging his own bag onto his shoulders by the strap.

Isaac remained motionless, stiff as he fumbled with the strap of his back, silent fury burning in his chest.

"Felix." Sam's tone was sharp, unrelenting, stern. "Get up."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, jaw set as he lifted himself off the ground, slinging the bag across his shoulders, gaze focused on their old ship lifting off and shooting skyward. "Let's go." Sam started towards another platform, expecting Isaac to follow.

Isaac started after him, allowing a few feet of space between them. He waited until they'd secured another ship, until they'd loaded their gear inside, until Sam seated himself in the pilot's seat, until they were roaring out of the space port before he spoke.  
  
"Don't  _ever_  do that again."

Isaac's sharp remark caught Sam's attention, he noted the quiet, yet aggravated tone. He arched a questioning eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"Don't ever hold information back. Next time it could get us killed. Next time--if you ever do it again, I'm out. You'll be on your own."

Sam stole a glance at his partner, the tension in his jaw, the solemn expression he knew was masking his rage, the way he stared straight ahead with a fury-laced glint in his eye. Sam waited a moment before he spoke, "Understood."

"He shouldn't have left." Isaac murmured, picking up the data pad, pulling up information about Charon Industries.

"Damn it, Felix, he has a family-"

"--and what about us? We're not good enough for him? We're not his family?"

"I don't expect you to understand. Just--let him go. His duty is to his wife and children." Sam settled back into his seat, hands carefully maneuvering the ship into slip space.

Isaac dared a glimpse of his partner, detecting the pain in his partner's eyes, the pain he no doubt took painstaking precautions to hide. He could never hide the emotion in his eyes, every other part of his body could be relaxed, but his eyes bled sheer agony.

After all their time together, Isaac could read him like a book, or, at least he thought he could.

After a long moment, Isaac turned back to his data pad, skimming over the information and gauging the profit. He brushed aside the knot in his chest, the aching regret and forced his voice to its usual sarcastic, nonchalant tone before he spoke.

"So, how do you feel about genocide?"

\--------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2! The next one addresses a scene mentioned in this one!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one! As always, leave a kudo/comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> ~Phantom


	3. Family Dinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Isaac are invited to the Wu’s house for dinner, questions are asked, and Sam shows a side he rarely acknowledges.

"No."

"Sam, come on! It'll be fun!"

"Felix, I said no!"

Isaac glared at Sam as the broad mercenary took a seat on the worm couch, beginning to disassemble his sniper rifle for cleaning.

"Sam. We haven't met Mason's kids yet and we haven't seen Megan in literal years," he stood in front of his partner. "All I'm saying is that it would mean a lot to Wu if we  _both_  showed up."

Sam heaved a sigh, the kind that Isaac knew meant he'd given up. "What time?"

"He said some time around six. He also said Megan will be thrilled to see us again." Isaac grinned triumphantly, sagging comfortably into the arm chair across from Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Just dont embarass yourself, Felix."

"Me? Never." Isaac drew his knife from his boot, carefully admiring the edges as they began their two hour wait before departure.

\----------------------

"Sam! Isaac! I'm so glad you could join us!" Mason's broad smile lit up the moment he opened the door, ushering his partners into the threshold and towards the dining room.

"Megan! Sam and Isaac are here!" He called before turning to face them. "Make yourselves at home, I'll go get the kids."

As Mason scurried off to retrieve his children, an unnatural spring in his step, the duo's attention was redirected to the doorway where Megan Wu had just appeared.

She smiled warmly, stepping closer to engulf each mercenary in a firm embrace, "Welcome home, boys."

_Home_. It's such a foreign word, a concept he wasn't sure he'd ever understand. He'd never known anything resembling home in the past--so this is what it feels like.

Megan stepped back, drawing Isaac from his thoughts, smoothing wayward strands of hair back, "Mason's been so excited for you two to visit, it's all he's talked about for the last couple months."

"Well, we're glad we're able to visit." Isaac returned with his usual charismatic grin.

Sam merely nodded, cautious eyes flickering around the room until the thundering footsteps redirected his attention to the approaching children.

Mason's oldest daughter Melody exploded into the dining room, coming to a screeching halt as her emerald eyes fell on the tall, broad mercenary standing awkwardly near the doorway. Her younger sister, Mikayla, nearly collided with her sister's back, thoroughly prepared to start yelling until, she too, saw Sam watching them anxiously.

Megan smiled, stepping beside her daughters and kneeling down, "Girls, this is your Uncle Sam and your Uncle Isaac. They're your daddy's brothers."

"B-but they don't look like Daddy." Melody pointed out.

"No, but they're the closest thing I have to brothers." Mason assured them, hoisting the girls up into their seats before tickling their sides with a smile, "they're family too, Mel."

"Can Uncle Sam sit by me?" Melody asked with a shy smile, emerald gaze flickering between her parents and the dumbstruck mercenary.

"If he wants to--" Megan looked to Sam for confirmation.

He merely offered a quiet nod, caution etched into his features.

Melody's questioning stare morphed into a thrilled smile as she climbed out of her chair, her three-year-old fingers wrapping around Sam's large, scarred hand and dragged him over to the seat beside her.

"I-Isaac--" Mikayla cooed, two-year-old hands waving desperately towards Isaac.

"I think Miki wants you to sit by her." Megan laughed quietly, watching the slim mercenary stare blankly at the child for a moment.

"Guess so," Isaac took his seat, the little girl's fingers already pulling at his arm to play with his hand. He hesitated, but reluctantly surrendered his hand to the child while Megan retrieved the food from the kitchen.

\----------------------

The group made it most of the way through the meal, Mikayla having relinquished her grip on Isaac's hand twenty minutes ago in favor of consuming as much food as she could. For the duration of the meal, Sam had remained silent, gaze drifting from Mason, back to his food and, on a rare occasion, to the wide eyes sitting beside him, staring at him in wonder.

Isaac smirked to himself, thoroughly amused by the little girl's newfound obsession with Sam, an obsession that only made the guarded mercenary nervous and uncomfortable. As for Isaac, his gaze mostly switched between Mason and his wife, as the two exchanged comments, most of which were directed at either mercenary.

This carried on until Melody interrupted the adult's conversation with a bold question directed at a very stoic Sam, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Melody!" Megan chided, disapproval etched into her features as she scolded the girl, "we don't ask guests--"

"It's all right." Sam lifted his hand slowly, gathering his wits before he glanced to Mason for his approval.

Mason merely nodded, mildly displeased that his oldest would bring such a topic up at dinner, but, as a mercenary himself, he couldn't help but be anything but surprised.

Sam met the girl's curious gaze, offering a single word of confirmation, "Yes."

Her eyes widened, a broad grin spreading across her face as all attention to food was abandoned in favor of drilling the war-torn soldier beside her. She shifted in her chair, fully facing Sam, "How many?"

"A lot." Sam looked back at his food, slowly continuing to eat.

"Do you have a family?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because of the War." Sam kept a stoic expression, but Isaac could see the agony bleeding from his eyes as he kept them trained on the plate before him.

"Do you miss them?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any friends?"

Mason jumped in, "Melody, sweetheart, that's why he and Isaac are here. They're close friends of mine. They're family."

"But--"

"Family doesn't end with blood." Sam supplied, glancing at the girl, "your father and Isaac are the brothers I never truly had. They're family now."

Melody seemed to mull this over for a moment before opening her mouth to speak, only for her mother to jump in, "That's enough, Mel. Let the man eat."

Melody nodded, turning back to her plate, "Yes, ma'am."

\------------------

Dinner had come to an uneventful close, allowing the group to relocate to the family room. Mason had taken up a spot on the couch with Megan sitting close by, the girls playing with toys on the floor in the middle of the room. Isaac and Sam had chosen individual arm chairs across from the Wu's, Isaac chattering endlessly with the couple while Sam silently watched the children.

"So, Mace mentioned that you're pregnant again, huh?" Isaac asked, swirling the beer bottle's contents with a smile.

"Yep, kid number three is on the way...soon we'll be outnumbered." Melody laid a hand on Mason's forearm.

Mason smirked, "Don't worry, we'll manage, Meg."

Isaac chuckled, "Pretty soon you'll need a babysitter with how many kids'll be running around this place."

"We'll probably need to find a bigger place for that very reason." Megan smiled warmly, hand drifting to rest on her stomach.

The adults' attention was drawn to Sam as Melody scampered across the floor, climbing into the mercenary's lap. He looked at her questioningly, only to have her point to his hair, silently asking permission to play with it.

He picked her up, standing and setting the girl on the seat behind him before taking a seat on the floor, pulling the ponytail out. Melody giggled, fingers already tangling in his long hair, separating it for the braid.

Sam shot a pointed glare at Isaac, "If you ever mention this to  _anyone_ \--"

Isaac laughed, "Not to worry, Sam, this one will be our family secret."

\----------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Folks!
> 
> Isn't Sammy cute? He doesn't like to acknowledge his sweet side. ^.^ Let's just say this one was for a fluff prompt and I had too much fun writing it. :)
> 
> Leave a kudo/comment and let me know your thoughts!
> 
> ~Phantom


	4. Dad Always Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your past has a nasty habit of catching up with you, especially when it consists of an old disapproving friend.
> 
> Siris discovered what Felix and Locus were up to on Chorus, suffice to say, he wasn’t pleased.

He's tired. He's so damn tired of this.

"Dammit!"

Isaac whipped the data pad across the room, shattering the tablet into a thousand shards. He sagged onto the couch, fingers dragging through disheveled hair, pushing it away from his face as he glared at the far wall.

Sam had been off the radar too long. He couldn't find him. He'd never find him. He'd abandoned every military tactic they'd learned, all but one, to lay low and avoid drawing attention.

Isaac's chest constricted, the fury that once fueled him had fizzled and died. His hatred had forced him to survive, forced him to drag himself out of the canyon and off-world. It was time to admit his defeat, to admit that he was never going find Sam, never going to exact his revenge.

He needed to move on. But, how does one move past such a betrayal. Sam was his partner, his  _brother_ , how could he just let it go? How could he reconcile with his humanity after everything that had happened on Chorus.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, to push the images of Sam's heartless betrayal aside, to silence the cries of the innocent, and the chiding voice of Mason, if only he could see him now, he'd be ashamed of him.

Isaac fought to suppress a shudder, the haunting memory he thought he'd forgotten, purged from his mind.

\---------------------

"Sirs, we have an incoming transport."

Isaac's head snapped up from the console, gaze flickering to Sam, who approached the crewman, checking the screen over his shoulder.

"It doesn't match any known configurations--I can't scan it." He glanced up at the looming mercenary, timidly finishing the sentence.

Sam's eyes darted to Isaac, even through the visor, Isaac could read the recognition in his gaze.

"Uh, sir? It's hailing us." The crewman spun his chair slightly to look between the two stunned mercenaries.

Isaac spoke first, moving around the command console, "We'll take it in the Captain's office."

"Yes, sir." The crewman turned back to the console, directing the incoming message to the desired room.

Isaac started towards the office, bracing himself as Sam came up behind him.

"You really think it's him?" He cast a wary glance towards Sam, nervous energy palatable.

"He has the ship. Who else could it be?" Sam returned evenly, watching the crew behind him. Isaac studied him for a moment, detecting the tension in his figure, the no doubt clenched jaw behind his helmet. He sighed, glancing at the ominous door separating them from their former partner.

"You wanna start, or shall I? Because if he's here--"

"He'll want an explanation." Sam finished for him, turning to meet Isaac's gaze.

"This doesn't even concern him."

Sam gave him an annoyed look beneath his helmet before opening the door and stepping inside.

The viewscreen on the far wall luminated the otherwise dimly lit room. Isaac took the lead, positioning himself just off of Sam's left shoulder as they approached the screen.

"Siris! Good to see you! Long time, no--"

"Don't give me that crap, Gates. What the hell do you two think you're doing?"

Sam flinched slightly, gaze resting steadily on the furious mercenary on the screen.

"When I heard there were two ex-military mercenaries fighting a civil war--"

"How'd you hear about it?" Isaac cut him off, tone sharp, arms crossed.

His gaze never faltered, his glare burning through his visor, through the screen itself, all of his rage directed at the man he once called  _brother_. Mason had no right--no right at all to tell them what they should or shouldn't do. He left them--abandoned them. No, he doesn't get to judge, he doesn't get that right. He's not one of them. He's not family. Not anymore.

"You're not the only ones still running jobs." Mason returned, fury glinting in his blue-grey eyes. 

"Thought you gave that up. I believe," Isaac paced in front of the viewscreen, patronizing tone growing by the moment, "you said you needed to be there for your family." He stopped in front of the screen, slipping his helmet off and slamming it down on the table, "So, why the hell do you care?"

Mason stared back, unaffected by Isaac's tirade. Instead, his gaze flickered over his shoulder to Sam, "Ortez, what's going on?"

Sam didn't respond, allowing Isaac the opportunity to speak, "Siris, I really don't think this is any of your business. You left the team, you don't get to--"

"Gates, I swear to--"

"That's enough."

Both sets of eyes turned to Sam, who had remained silent since entering the room. "Siris, dock your ship in the landing bay. We will have this conversation in-person."

Siris stared back at the stoic mercenary for a moment before nodding and deactivating the channel.

Isaac slipped his helmet on, turning to face Sam, "You realize we can't let him leave, right? He'll tell the UNSC and--we can't let him leave, Locus." He finished the sentence quietly, anger cloaked beneath determination.

"Felix--" Sam started, his tone laced with agonizing disbelief.

"Sam. He. Can't. Leave." Isaac reaffirmed, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"His family--?"

Isaac nearly reeled in surprise. There was no sharp reprimand, no "code names" remark, just a broken question, "His family--?" Where was the battle-hardened soldier? The machine who killed without a second thought? He forced the lump in his throat down, steadying his nerves.

He hesitated for split-second, choosing his words, emotions in turmoil before spite emerged victorious, "He should've thought of them before he showed up. He knows the dangers of this job, sometimes you don't make it home." Isaac started towards the door, leaving Sam alone in the room.

His form stiffened, gathering the strength necessary to move. His voice dropped, a quiet whisper in an otherwise silent room.

"I thought we were done losing friends."

The words hung regretfully in the air as he slowly spun and started after his partner. 

\-----------------

"We got this one, you boys go get a cup of coffee or something." Isaac waved the hired guns off, insisting upon privacy for the conversation.

Sam made eye contact with the guards as they left before redirecting his gaze to the ship landing on a nearby platform. He stopped beside Isaac, eyes never leaving  _The Harbinger_.

"God, I've missed that ship. She's still a beauty." Isaac remarked, regret replaced by a nonchalant exterior, a facade he prayed Sam would believe. He gave a low whistle as the ship touched down, loading ramp extending. He un-holstered his sidearm, checking it over casually, masking the trembling in his fingers, taking his time to examine the cartridge carefully to ensure it was properly loaded.

Sam tore his eyes from the vessel, a ship that held so many memories of the trio's missions. In a way,  _The Harbinger_  had been home, a home to those who had none. His eyes moved from the magnum to Isaac's visor, a questioning look etched into his features beneath his helmet.

Isaac had never needed to see Sam's face to know what he was thinking in situations such as these. "He's not going to come quietly, Locus."

"We are  _not_  killing him." Sam's voice dropped an octave, a sharp rebuke.

Isaac shrugged, "We may not have a choice." His weapon returned to his thigh as his eyes darted to the armored mercenary descending the loading ramp. "Siris!"

Isaac's chipper voice filling the otherwise abandoned landing bay as the duo approached their former partner. He recognized the stiffness of Mason's posture, the palatable tension in the air, his careful movements and studious gaze.

"Felix." Mason stepped off of the ramp, gaze meeting Isaac's evenly.

"Welcome aboard  _The Tartarus_." Isaac motioned to the landing bay, "I'd give you a tour, but, this isn't a social call."

Mason looked less than amused as he removed his helmet, expression softening after a moment, soft blue-grey eyes drifting between the two mercenaries. "It's good to see you two again," a gentle smile playing at the corner of his lips, a smile that faltered after another moment, "I'm going to ask this once," his voice was quiet, eerily calm, as though he'd abandoned all hope, "what are you two doing? These are innocent people."

Isaac slipped his own helmet off, propping it against his hip as he met Mason's gaze evenly, "No one is ever really innocent, Si."

Mason's gaze settled on Isaac, "Gates, come on."

Isaac stiffened, Mason's silent plea inciting a set of morals he'd long-since abandoned. He stared back, the hardened expression fading to something resembling empathy, "Mason. We're doing a job. This war has been going for almost three decades before we got involved--"

"--then help them make peace." Mason stepped closer, motioning towards the energy shield and the planet below. "We started this to help people, to save lives, not massacre them." His gaze shifted between the two, looking for some sign of remorse, some indication they regretted their actions.

Sam left his helmet on, gaze trained passively on Mason, unwilling to speak. Isaac noted the tension in his shoulders, he could recognize the telltale signs of Sam's doubt. He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, a silent reminder of whose side he was on before his eyes drifted back to Mason's.

He steeled himself against the flood of emotion, the longing to embrace a long-lost brother, the urge to climb aboard  _The Harbinger_  and go back to the way things were before Mason left, before their worlds spiraled out of control, before they became murderers.

"You have no right."

Mason tore his eyes from Sam's emotionless exterior to look at Isaac, "What?"

"You have no right to show up here, demand we back down from a job we've been doing for over a year. We're entrenched here, we can't just leave. We have a job to finish." His expression hardened, his eyes narrowing in anger, jaw set in silent defiance.

"Gates--"

"Don't you  _Gates_  me! You left! You abandoned us!" Isaac snapped, jabbing a finger into Mason's chest.

Mason flinched, stumbling back a step from Isaac's force, "I didn't--"

"You did! And now you can't live with what we've become, so you're trying to redeem us because you fucked up!" Isaac's voice rose, all the pent-up anger, all the fury and agony he'd suppressed bubbling to the surface, exploding in a fit of rage. He shoved Mason back, Sam stepping between the two of them before it escalated.

Isaac glared past Sam, his tirade far from over, "You abandoned us! We were your family and you bailed! You have no right to be here, no right to argue, no fucking right to judge! Get off your high horse, Wu! You're no better than us! You're scared! You're scared because, what we became? That's what you are! We're what you suppress! A constant reminder of what you could become if you let yourself go again! You self-righteous son of a bitch!"

"Felix!" Sam's voice shattered his concentration, physically restraining him.

Isaac's eyes drifted to Sam's in a daze, his visor providing the only barrier between his glazed-over eyes and Sam's concerned ones. He could feel the knot in his chest, his heart racing, the tears he hadn't realized were cascading down his cheeks.

"That's enough." Sam shook him gently, bringing him out of his daze, reminding him that this was real, that he'd just screamed every pent-up agony that had been torturing him for months.

His eyes drifted from Sam's visor to Mason's guilty expression. He was numb to everything, he was exhausted, he was broken. He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, pushing himself back a few steps, gloved hand wiping harshly at the salty trails on his skin. He tried, God, did he try to square his shoulders, to regain any sort of composure, but he barely stood on his own.

His eyes took in Mason's agonized expression; remorse, an emotion he hadn't known in so long, tore away at his heart. "Wu--I didn't mean--"

Mason's hand was up, silencing the slim mercenary before he could continue. "No. No, Gates, you meant every word." His eyes dragging themselves up from floor to meet Isaac's broken stare, "And you know what? You were right."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Isaac frowned, staring at Mason with a look of utter confusion.

"I left you two, I thought you'd be all right on your own because you had always had each other's backs. I was wrong. This," he motioned towards Chorus, "this is wrong, and you know it. Your moral code, the code we created to make sure we were helping people, it's gone. And I don't think you realize how far you've fallen--either of you."

Isaac straightened to his full height, "You're right, Wu, we are past the point of redemption. We're invested here. We've spent too much time and energy and men to run away now."

"Gates--"

"It's Felix," Isaac corrected coldly, slipping his helmet over his head, "I get that you're broken, Wu, that you're on your own. But, we have a job to do, and that doesn't entail abandoning our objective."

"God dammit, Ga--Felix!" Mason stepped forward, gesturing once more to the world below, "There are innocent people down there! You can't just wipe them out!"

"Watch me." Felix returned, voice void of emotion.

Mason set his jaw, indecision gripping his frame, "Gates, I can't let you do that."

"You don't really have a choice,  _Siris_." Isaac returned, "See, you have two options. Either you accompany us to the brig, where you will stay until this whole thing is over, or, we can knock you out and you'll end there anyhow. Choice is yours."

"You don't want to do this," Mason slipped his helmet on, eyes darting between his former partners.

"You're right, we don't. But, we have a job to do and we can't afford anymore setbacks." Isaac paced back and forth as Sam took up a position behind Mason.

"You're making a mistake, Gates. Just listen to me!"

"Like I said before, it's  _Felix_." Isaac dropped into a fighting stance, Sam quickly following suit.

Mason sighed, hands clenching themselves into fists as he re-positioned himself to watch both mercenaries. They circled for a moment, tension building even as the guards returned, positioning themselves away from the fight, yet close enough to watch.

Isaac lunged first, closing the distance between them, blows blocked and deflected as they moved. As Isaac stumbled back, Sam stepped in, landing a well-placed blow to the back of Mason's knee. Mason tucked and rolled, spinning himself to a standing position, exchanging blows with Sam.

Isaac scrambled to rejoin the battle, his fist colliding with the side of Mason's helmet, sending him sprawling. Mason was on his feet in a moment, dodging another blow, landing his own, incapacitating each mercenary within a matter of minutes.

He landed a blow to Isaac's jaw, sending the orange-clad mercenary to floor before spinning and round-house kicking Sam into a nearby steel crate, who collapsed shortly after impact. He backed away, turning to sprint towards  _The Harbinger_ , determined to escape.

Isaac barely made it to his knees when he heard the sniper round fire, slicing through tendons and cartilage in Mason's shoulder. He was on his feet in an instant, "Hold your fire!" He was too late, another round flew through the air. He deployed his shield, praying he'd deflect the round in time, hoping he'd be able to protect Mason from another wound.

The energy shield barely missed, the bullet skimming its outer edge as it sped towards Mason's mechanical leg. The round shattered the knee mechanism, sending the mercenary crashing the floor.

Isaac spun away from Mason, tearing his pistol from his thigh and promptly executing the guard who had dared to fire at his friend. The guard had gotten one last shot off, bullet speeding towards the fallen mercenary. Isaac reacted in time, his shield deploying, deflecting the bullet to his left, where it struck a crate filled with C-4.

"Shit."

"Take cover!" Sam slid behind Isaac, crouching and bracing himself against the impending explosion.

Isaac's shield took the brunt of the flames, protecting them from incineration. The hanger's fire system kicked in, pouring water out of the sprinkler system, dousing the flames. Isaac stood, lowering his shield, "Hey Mace--"

His eyes drifted to where the ship had been, eyes catching  _T_ _he Harbinger's_  retreating engines in the distance.

"He made it out." Sam commented, coming to stand beside him.

"We need to finish this. It won't be long before he runs into the UNSC and tells them what's going on here." Isaac started towards the bridge, stepping over the charred corpses in the doorway.

"Felix--"

"We finish this and we get paid. Let Hargrove deal with the UNSC, once we're paid, we're out of here."

_Felix and Locus, report to the bridge. Chorus' forces are on the move...straight towards the Communication Tower._

"Let's go. We have a job to do."

\-----------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> This is the last chapter I have written, I'm currently in the process of working on the next chapter, so that will be posted soon!
> 
> As always, leave a kudo/comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> ~Phantom


	5. Kill Your Conscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone reaches a breaking point, some just break more than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> So, uh, this one is pretty dark. Starts out with graphic depiction of blood/violence, indications of PTSD, depression, abandonment-issues, the works. You have been duly warned that there are a variety of triggers in this chapter, but if that doesn't bother you, enjoy! :)  
> ~ Phantom

 

**\-----------------**

**So you kill your conscience, cry yourself to sleep**

**Kill your conscience, better you than me**

\-----------------

He's standing in a pool of blood, bodies scattered around him; remains hanging haphazardly off crates, splayed across the floor, craters in their chests or craniums. He's standing in the middle of the carnage, the last living being in a room surrounded by death. He casts a numb glance towards the gang's leader, his marred form a mixture of blood-coated cloth and charred remains.

_How had it gone so wrong?_

Isaac couldn't remember all of what had happened, what led to this senseless slaughter. The daze faded like the end of a rush--there one moment, an echoing memory the next. He squats down beside a less grotesque corpse, holstering his sidearm and snatches the hem of the body's shirt. He ignores the faint sickness in his stomach, ignores the blood-slick blade in his hand, the searing crimson that's burning holes into the pit of his stomach as he roughly drags the side of the weapon across the material, ridding the steel of scarlet.

He pushes himself to stand, rubbing absently at the dull ache in his ribcage, scratching aimlessly at the stubble growing along his jaw. It doesn't take him long to make it back to the nightclub, to brush aside the consuming sense of guilt eating away at his soul as he squares his shoulders and arrogantly strides towards his employer. A flick of the thumb and the ring in his hand lands on the table with a metallic ping, spinning in place until it settles onto the wood; proof of death. It certainly doesn't take him long to realize that his employer, another prominent crime lord, has no intention of actually paying him.

He heaves a sigh, a dramatic eye roll accompanied by an expression resembling boredom, "I just killed a room of fifty thugs and you think you're going to kill me with a pistol and two bodyguards?"

The crime lord offers little more than a smile and a shrug, "What do you think?"

It's a crooked smile, one filled with malice and, dare he suggest, amusement. He no doubt believes Isaac to be defenseless, that his posture suggests exhaustion and not subterfuge. He's wrong.

Isaac heaves another bored sigh, "Last chance to pay up." He's gauging the guards over his shoulder as they move to flank him, identifying points of weakness, favored movements to indicate past injuries.

The barrel settles level with his forehead and it's all he needs to react. He grips the barrel of the weapon, pushing it aside as the mechanism fires, bullet gliding past his skull by mere inches. He wrenches the weapon free from the startled crime lord, unloading a round into the delinquent's head before spinning and lodging two more in his henchmen's skulls.

"Should've paid up when you had the chance."

His head snaps towards the doors, echoes of footsteps and orders drifting beneath the mahogany. In one swift motion, he swoops down, retrieving both machine guns from the fallen bodyguards and dives behind the desk.

The explosion that shreds the wood seconds later leaves a faint ringing in Isaac's ears. He presses himself closer to the metal cabinet and steels himself for the flood of thugs.

He should have been prepared, should have expected a double-cross. He's all too familiar with the sensation of betrayal by now. First the UNSC and their blatant disregard for his unit's survival. The most violent battle of the war, and he, Sam, and Mason had survived, only to be discharged immediately after.

Being a soldier was all he'd ever known, when he closed his eyes he could still remember Sam's numbness, Mason's screams about not being able to feel his legs. Isaac's commanding officer ordering him to leave them behind, they were prisoners of war, and there was nothing they could do, but Isaac disobeyed direct orders. He stormed the Covenant's stronghold, he'd recovered his family, he made sure they made it home. Had their fates been left to the UNSC, Sam and Mason never would have survived the war, and Isaac--Isaac would have lost his family much sooner.

The bond they shared, the brotherhood they'd built, the innate sense of loyalty proved to be their ultimate downfall--the foundation for their crumbling partnership. Mason was the first to abandon him, a blow he hadn't seen coming. It felt like any other mission at the time, he hadn't known it was their last. No, that had been information Sam and Mason had withheld, information that had been "need to know." In retrospect, Isaac should have picked up on Mason's cues: the nostalgia about their adventures, the remarks about retirement and the memories they'd share after both he and Sam finally settled down.

Isaac swallowed the lump in his throat, stomach lurching at the fleeting reminder of his former morals, a set of codes that Mason embodied. Hell, once Mason left, Sam and Isaac were sent into a downward spiral, morals and good-intentions be damned. It was shortly thereafter that Isaac realized the family he'd once known was no more, that whatever cosmic entity that called itself creator was, once again, taking everything away from a broken merc who didn't have much left to lose.

And then came the betrayal he's not sure he'll survive. Sam had been by his side ever since they were orphaned children marooned on an unforgiving outer colony, he'd been his brother since the day he saved Isaac's scrawny ass. On the battlefield, they'd been inseparable, and even after the war, Sam had been completely incapable of cutting the lean mercenary loose. They were family, the only one Isaac had known since--well, since his twin sister was ripped away from him.

Sure, he'd had a family, but like everything else in his life, he lost them. He's not sure what happened, why everyone leaves him, but he's sick of it. He's sick of the pain, sick of the aching in his chest, the confusion in his heart when someone he calls brother walks away. He's sick of losing, he's sick of crying, and he's sick of being alone.

It's the fire he needs to push himself to stand, spinning to face the onslaught of thugs, unloading the machine gun rounds into wave after wave of enemies. He doesn't realize he's screaming, doesn't realize there are tears streaming down his cheeks, doesn't realize that they've all fallen long ago and yet he continues to fire into their lifeless husks. He doesn't realize it's over until the clicking of the empty clips bring him back to reality. It's in that moment that his arms go slack, weapons dropping to the floor with a thud, followed almost immediately by Isaac's knees.

He's crying, he's digging gloved fingers into the cherrywood boards, desperate to feel something other than this emotional pain. He's broken and he doesn't know what to do.

"What's so wrong with me? Why do they always leave?"

His voice cracks, crumbling beneath an ocean of sobs, the weight of his past tugging him down to the bloodstained floor, muscles betraying him as his arms cave and he collapses onto his side. He stares into oblivion, too numb to move, too numb to process the tears slipping down his scars, the memories that flash before his eyes. He doesn't move for hours, his right hand wrapped around the dog tags that had been tucked into his shirt, eyes sealed shut.

He doesn't move until he hears shuffling behind him. His eyes snap open, fingers finding his sidearm before he bolts upright, turning to face the door. He's not prepared for what stares back at him, not ready to face the grey eyes pinning him in place.

"S-Sam?" It's a labored whisper, a terrified echo of his greatest fear.

"Felix."

Isaac watches the broad mercenary examine the room, eyes drifting over the carnage, "You've been busy."

"H-how did you find me?" He almost doesn't want to know the answer. He'd been searching for so long, spending countless months looking for Sam, and now, here he was, just mere feet away from him.

"It's not important." Sam ventures further into the room, stepping cautiously over pools of blood, "I thought you died on Chorus. When I heard a man named Felix had reappeared on the market, I had to see for myself." He stops less than two feet from Isaac, "I would have thought you'd choose a different line of work."

"Yeah, well, we can't all be back-stabbing traitors, now can we?" Isaac managed, a shadow of snark ebbing into his voice. In truth he's terrified, he doesn't know what to expect from his former partner, not after Chorus--not after everything they've been through.

Sam doesn't flinch, merely crosses his arms across his chest and leans against the metal file cabinet to Isaac's right. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?" It's a cautious retort, a means of gauging Sam's temperament.

"Survive the fall." His expression hardens, grey orbs trained on the lean mercenary propped against the front of the desk, seemingly ready to flee at any indication of danger.

Isaac scoffed incredulously, "After everything that happened, _that's_ your first question?"

"It's an appropriate question. That fall should have killed you." Sam returned, studying Isaac's irritable expression.

"Does it matter?" Isaac snapped, dragging himself to his feet, a shadow of dignity flashing across his features as he attempted to square his shoulders.

The expression etched into Sam's features answers his question. Isaac heaves a sigh, shoulders slouching forward, "Fine. Amor lock. Happy?"

Sam remains stoic, "I'm never happy."

"Really? Cause you looked pretty fucking happy standing next to those rainbow-colored morons!" It's an outburst Isaac wasn't expecting, a flare of the temper he'd struggled to keep in check for so long.

He's channeled every ounce of hatred, every trace of agony into exacting his revenge on the man he'd so cautiously named brother all those years ago. Now, Sam's standing in front of him, and he's indecisive. He'd given up any hope of finding him, of killing him, and yet, here he was.

He waits for what feels like ages for Sam to react, but he does nothing more than tilt his head to the side, "You're wrong, it was regret."

" _Regret_? Then why the hell did you--"

"-- _not_ for betraying you." Isaac is cut off before he can finish, Sam's tone leaving little room for protest, "I regretted the deaths of all those people--the people of Chorus. Fel--Isaac, we _slaughtered_ them. We destroyed their homes and their families, and for what? For a company that wanted their technology, but didn't have the patience to negotiate for it."

_He doesn't regret betraying me._

He's in shock. He stops listening after the lack of regret. "Y--you don't regret betraying me?" It's a whisper of uncertainty, disbelief consuming every inch of his features, a lump slowly forming in his throat.

Sam pauses, regarding him for a long a moment, "You manipulated me, Felix. Why would I ever regret disassociating myself with a man who was so frightened of me, that he made sure I remained a shell of my former self?"

Isaac stares back into the cold, emotionless eyes locked on his disbelieving expression. "Sam--you can't mean that. We're--we're partners. Brothers. You can't mean that. I never meant to--"

"--but you did. And you deserved what happened to you." Sam paces forward, pausing mere inches from Isaac, "You sacrificed everything; your morals, your family, and your sanity. You sacrificed it all in the pursuit of wealth and pride. Look around you, Felix, what good has it done you? You never stopped to wonder if you're the reason everyone leaves you. That's why you're all alone now and that's why you'll _always_ be alone."

Isaac's eyes drop to the floor. He's in shock and he doesn't know how to even begin to process Sam's words. He's in shock and he doesn't want to consider how true his friend's words really are. He's in shock and all he could think of is how much he's lost, never once considering in the moment, how much he'd unintentionally given up.

For so long, he'd been clinging to the memory of losing his twin sister, of losing his home, of losing his family. He'd never once thought that Mason left _because_ he had a family to return to, never once thought that Sam betrayed him _because_ of how he was treated, and he never once thought that all the people who have left him--they had their reasons--and _he_ was it.

It takes him an eternity lift his gaze from the floor, "Sam, I--"

The room is empty, void of life beyond his own. He blinks away the tears, pushes the aching sense of loneliness away and searches for any trace of his partner--his brother, but he's gone. Like everyone else in his life, even the hallucination of his brother, is gone.

As he dragged himself out of the club, stumbling in a disoriented daze, he truly believes that Sam had been right. He's his own worst enemy. He's driven everyone he's ever loved, everyone he's ever cared about, away.

It takes him hours to drive back to his rundown apartment, his mind too concentrated on Sam's words to truly function. He jerks the car into park, yanking the keys indelicately from the ignition and shuffles towards the door to the lobby.

He doesn't stop to be appreciate the fact that the building is abandoned, doesn't stop to remember that the building he'd chosen to take up residence in was the same one the mercenary trio had chosen when they worked together.

By the time he reaches his room, he's regained some semblance of sanity. It was then that the rage set in, the frustration and realization that he, not anyone else, was the responsible for being abandoned. He spins, planting a fist into the aged drywall outside his room with a dizzying force. He's screaming and crying and punching the drywall over and over until his hand punctures the fibreboard and buries his appendage into the wall wrist-deep.

It's then that he realizes how tired he is, how physically and emotionally drained he's become. He gingerly pulls his hand out of the wall and flexes his bloodied knuckles, stiffly examining the damage. He mumbles a few curses under his breath before turning and pushing the door open.

He manages a few uneven steps inside the room, scrubbing drowsily at the trails left behind from the tears. "Goddammit," he mumbles, blinking away the stars behind his eyes as the heels of his hands fell away from his face.

_Beer. It'll chase away the pain._

His gaze drifts towards the barely functioning kitchen as he slowly makes his way towards it, kicking the door shut behind him. He's halfway to the first counter when he catches a glare from the filtering moonlight.

The adrenaline kicks in and he's tearing his sidearm from it's holster and aiming the barrel towards the figure by the window.

"You really should lock your doors, and, maybe check your perimeter before you walk into a room."

He knows that voice, but it can't be him. No. It has to be another hallucination. It can't possibly be him. He left, and he wouldn't chance running into Isaac now. Not after what happened the last time they met.

" _Mason?_ "

\----------------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have already begun the process of writing the next one, which just so happens to pick up immediately after this one! I have the next six (6) parts prompted and ready to be written! I can't wait to get them done and see all of y'all's feedback!
> 
> This fine fic was prompted by Kill Your Conscience by Shinedown (just wait, this song got dissected, and I use more of its lines in future fics ;) )
> 
> As always, feel free to leave a kudo/comment and let me know what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> ~ Phantom


	6. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when you’re loneliest, the universe throws you a bone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> Just another friendly reminder, while this chapter isn't nearly as dark as the last one, there are definitely some triggering themes in this one! They include: PTSD, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Depression, Alcoholism, Abandonment Issues, Major Angst, Canon-style swearing, and a touch of fluff at the end.  
> Enjoy!  
> ~ Phantom

 " _Mason?_ "

 

It can't be him.

Another hallucination? Yes. He's just like Sam. He has to be.  
  
Isaac's too tired to care at this point, "If you're another hallucination, fuck off. I'm not going to listen to another tirade about why I'm alone." He drops the weapon back to his side and continues over to the aging refrigerator, retrieving a beer from the bottom shelf.  
  
When he turns, he expects Mason's figure to be gone, but it's not. It's staring him down, disbelief in its features as it takes in Isaac's exhausted, scruffy appearance.  
  
"Gates--"  
  
"I said to _fucking_ leave," Isaac mumbles, stumbling towards his bedroom. He's weighed down by all his grief, the baggage of his past, the aching loneliness in his chest.  
  
"Gates, I'm real." Mason's voice is tentative, metal appendage clanking against wood as he dares a step closer to the disheveled mercenary.  
  
He's frozen in place, feet rooted to the ground as his tired mind processes his words. He turns slowly, "You can't be real."  
  
"Why not?" Mason asks, venturing closer, eyes drifting between the utterly confused expression etched into Isaac's face and the magnum in his hand.  
  
"Because after what happened the last time we talked, you wouldn't be stupid enough to track me down." Isaac murmurs, brown eyes distant as he drinks another portion of his beer.  
  
"You said it yourself. We're family, and family sti--"  
  
"Sticks together? Was that what you were doing when you dropped Sam and I?" There's a trace of disbelieving sarcasm in his tone as he turns back towards the bedroom.  
  
He's tired and he doesn't care. He's going to bed to sleep for the next month. Hallucinations and emotional baggage be damned, he just wants to sleep. He's made enough on this job to relax--that is, until he realizes he never raided the vault before he left.  
  
He'd been in a daze of shock, finally coming to terms with his subconscious, so much so, that he forgot to collect his money.  
  
"Fuck!" The beer bottle shatters against the far wall. "Goddammit! Why can't anything ever go right?!"  
  
He's pacing and swearing and Mason's concerned, "You all right?"  
  
He stops, whirling to look at Mason, "Do I look okay, Wu? And why the fuck are you even still here? I get it! I'm the reason everyone abandons me, and I'll always be alone. Now, could you please just fuck off already?!"  
  
Mason's reeling, the expression etched into his features resembles nothing short of disbelief, "Gates--you can't believe that."  
  
"Don't tell me what I can and can't believe, Wu! I couldn't believe that one partner would bail on us and the other would betray me and leave me for dead on Chorus! I can't believe a lot of things, but apparently that doesn't stop fate or whatever godforsaken entity up there from completely fucking up my life!"  
  
By the end of his tirade, his skin is a bright red tint, his breath coming in pants and his voice cracks. His tears have drained his strength and his voice is on the verge of disappearing. "So, yeah, I can't believe a lot of stuff, but that doesn't make it any less true." He sighs, hazel eyes dropping to the floor, "so, just leave me alone."  
  
He shuffles over to the nearest chair and the pistol clatters onto the wooden table as he sinks into the furniture. He's tired, he's defeated and he's two steps away from giving up.  
  
Mason cautiously steps closer, noting the gentle trembling in Isaac's shoulders as the silent tears drip from his jaw. He's close enough to lay a comforting hand on Isaac's shoulder, jerking the lean mercenary's attention upwards.  
  
He's staring back at him, confusion consuming every inch of his features. Mason squeezes his shoulder a little tighter when he notices the exhaustion in Isaac's frame, the unnatural paleness to his skin, and the evident malnutrition.  
  
"Gates--what happened to you?" It's barely above a whisper. Mason searches, hopes to find the once roaring fire in his eyes, but finds nothing but extinguished embers.  
  
Isaac doesn't answer. He can't answer. He has no voice, no will to speak. His eyes drop to floor in shame, shaking his head.  
  
Mason's frozen for a split second before he kneels down beside Isaac. He doesn't say anything, he can't find the words, but the next thing Isaac knows, he's on his knees with Mason's arms encircling his shoulders.  
  
He's trembling, his breaths coming in quiet gasps, eyes wide. It takes a moment to realize what happened, to process the fact that Mason has dragged him out of his seat and into a protective embrace.  
  
It's been so long, what felt like a lifetime, since someone had dared to hold him close, to assure him that the world around him wasn't crumbling. He sags against Mason's shoulder, exhaustion emerging victorious in the riptide of emotions drowning him. His tears subside as he drifts closer to sleep; he faintly registers Mason helping him to his feet and guiding him to his bedroom. He vaguely detects the cool haven beneath his head as he rolls onto his side and settles in.  
  
Mason drapes a blanket across his thin frame and steps back, "What happened to you, Isaac? What could have possibly broke you this badly?"  
  
It's the last words Isaac hears as he slips into a restful sleep, one that he's been denied for months, and while he dreams of better times, Mason keeps watch from a worn recliner in the corner.  
  
Just like old times.  
\-------------------  
"So, you're not a hallucination, huh?" Isaac scrubs once more at the drowsy haze over his eyes.  
  
"I'm real." Mason assures him, propping himself against the doorway. Isaac can't read him, not with how tired he still is--although, the previous evening had been the most restful sleep he's had in months.  
  
"How'd you find me?"  
  
" _That's_ your first question?"  
  
"Seemed fitting at the time," Isaac shrugs, slowly swinging his feet over the edge of the dated mattress. It takes him a moment to regain his bearings, his head drowning in a wave of sleep deprivation and throbbing headaches.  
  
Mason moves to retrieve the water bottle sitting on the table, "This is a safe house, remember? Our security systems are still intact," he tosses the bottle to Isaac who somehow finds the coordination to catch the plastic bottle, "you tripped one of them a week ago."  
  
It takes him a moment before realization hits him like a Covenant cruiser to the face, "Shit!" He's on his feet in an instant, stumbling forward a few steps until Mason intervenes and catches the lean mercenary before he falls headfirst into the wood boards.  
  
"What's wrong?!"  
  
He's panicking and desperate to escape, he's fighting the supporting arms around his torso until Mason relinquishes his hold and steps back. His knees hit the floor with enough impact to leave bruising and he's struggling to stand.  
  
Mason offers a hand, but Isaac slaps it away, insistent on moving on his own.  
  
"Gates, what the hell is--"  
  
"I gotta get out of here." He's not strong enough to reach a standing position.  
  
Mason's expression contorts into a look vaguely resembling frustration and fury. He steps in front of Isaac and pulls the unwilling mercenary to his feet, giving his shoulders a firm jerk to settle him, "Gates! Pull yourself together!"  
  
There's terror in Isaac's eyes as they finally settle onto Mason's glower, "Wu--Wu, I need to get out of here. Sam--he'll--"  
  
"Slow down! What about Sam?"  
  
"He'll _kill_ me!" He all but screams it in Mason's face, struggling to pull away.  
  
Mason tightens his grip with one hand and slaps Isaac with the other, "You need to collect yourself! I can't help you if you're hysterical!"  
  
The impact seems to have allowed Isaac to regain his composure for the terror in his eyes fades to resignation as his chin drops to his chest, "I'm sorry." He's whispering and if Mason didn't know any better, he might even say the trembling beneath his hand was fear rather than dehydration.  
  
"It's all right. I just need you to take a breath and tell me what's going on." His grip lessens as he guides Isaac to the worn couch and eases him onto the borderline non-existent cushions.  
  
He retrieves the water bottle from the other room and opens it, placing it in Isaac's shaking hands.  
  
"Where do I start?"  
  
"What happened after I escaped?" Mason takes a seat on the end table across from Isaac, who cautiously took a sip from the bottle.  
  
"We fought the Freelancers--we didn't win. They dropped The Tartarus on us."  
  
The statement itself stirs a variety of questions in Mason's mind, all of which relate to explaining how two individuals had managed to drop an entire cruiser on them and how the actual hell they had survived.  
  
"We crawled out of the wreckage," Isaac's eyes are locked on the floor in front of him, his features slowly contorting into silent fury, "Sam was hurt--badly. We made it back to the Communications Temple and I fought those rainbow idiots by myself."  
  
His fingers tighten around the water bottle, liquid overflowing onto the floorboards, "I was surrounded, and Sam--he..."  
  
He cut himself short, unnoticed tears pricking the corners of his eyes, voice faltering as fingers relax around plastic, "He betrayed me, Wu. He left me for dead without any remorse." His eyes met Mason's with a mixture of agony and rage, "he _fucking_ stood there and let them blow me off a _fucking_ cliff!"  
  
The water bottle is soaring through the air until it collides with drywall and splatters on the floor.  
  
"How could he do that to me?! First you, and now--dammit!" He's up for a split second before exhausted muscles cave and he's back on dated leather.  
  
Sam had always been loyal, quite possibly the most loyal of them all. He was hell-bent on keeping them together as a team, but this--this was unlike him.  
  
"What did he say?" He manages at last, grey orbs searching sullen features.  
  
"He said he wasn't a soldier. He said he was a monster, like me." Isaac finishes quietly, shoulders sagging as his eyes drop to the floor.  
  
"Do you think he made it off Chorus?" Mason quieries quietly.  
  
"Hell if I know," Isaac retorts, finding his footing on trembling limbs, "as far as I'm concerned, that bastard can rot in hell."  
  
"You don't mean that," Mason returns, pushing himself to a standing position.  
  
"Were you even listening to a word I said? He stabbed me in the back and it nearly cost me my life, Wu! So, yeah, of course I meant it." He's guiding himself to the kitchen until he found the strength to jerk the refrigerator door open and snatch a bottle of beer from the shelves, "there are some things you just can't forgive."  
  
"Does Sam know you're alive?" It's the inevitable question.  
  
"No! At least, I don't think so," Isaac returns, gaze drifting from the retired mercenary to the bottle in his hands, "and he's not going to know."  
  
"Gates--"  
  
"He left me for dead the first time, Wu. What do you think he'll do if he finds out I'm still kicking? I'm already a dead man walking as it is, so let's not push my ever-diminishing luck." Isaac retorts, shuffling to the stool by the counter and hoisting himself into the seat.  
  
He'll never admit it, but he's terrified. Sam's betrayal was reenactment of his worst nightmare, a reality he prayed would never come to pass. He's on his own once again, for the first time in over two decades, he's on his own and he's not sure what to do.  
  
His eyes find Mason's across the room, hazel bearing into grey, "You're sure he's not going to come through that door at any moment?" His head jerks towards the door frame, fingers trembling around the beer cap anxiously.  
  
"No, as far as I know, he's underground."  
  
Isaac scoffs, "He's been off the grid since Chorus. There's nothing new about that," the cap pops off and Isaac manages to take a sip, "I've been trying to track him down for months."  
  
"Why are you looking for him? I thought you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible."  
  
Isaac hesistates, choosing his words carefully, "Reasons."  
  
Mason recognizes the glint in Isaac's eyes, the murderous intent buried beneath agony and regret, "You're going to try and kill him, aren't you?"  
  
"There won't be any _trying_ involved. I'm going to kill him." Isaac retorts, downing a portion of his beer, "and so what if I am? That son of a bitch betrayed me; he has it coming!"  
  
"Gates--"  
  
"Wu, I swear to God, if you tell me I can't do that, I'm going to shoot you right here and now."  
  
"With what gun?" Mason challenges, crossing his arms.  
  
"This--" Isaac reaches for the holster beneath the counter edge, only to find it empty.  
  
Mason arches an eyebrow, "Yeah, I figured that would be the one you'd go for." He uncrosses his arms and begins to move towards Isaac, one stride after another, "while you were asleep, I took the liberty of doing my own recon. There were still weapons where we left them, and I found your additional staches."  
  
He stops short of a dumbstruck Isaac, "If you wanted to protect yourself from Sam, you certainly did a poor job of hiding your arsenal."  
  
"I wasn't expecting guests," Isaac mumbles a weak defense, setting the bottle to the side, "so, now what, Wu? You gonna kill me? Do Sam a favor?"  
  
"No. I know you find it hard to believe, Gates, but I'm not taking sides in your little _squabble_." Mason meets Isaac's gaze evenly, "I'm not doing either one of you a favor. As far as I'm concerned, you were never here and Sam? Sam isn't going to catch wind of this."  
  
"Why not?" Its a bitter retort, accompanied closely by a seething scowl.  
  
"Because you're both family and I won't betray either one of you." Mason returns, "We've lost enough already. I'm not ready to lose you, too."  
  
"You may not have a choice, Wu."  
  
Isaac's stubborn, always has been--it's quite possibly the only thing keeping him alive: spite.  
  
"There's always a choice," Mason lays a photograph on the counter beside Isaac.  
  
"Even in war?"  
  
"Especially in war," it's a warm smile, one Isaac remembers from their early years of the war, "not everyone makes it home, Gates. You have to hang on to the family that did," he motions to the photo, "not push them away."  
  
Isaac redirects his gaze to the image, eyes widening slightly at the young faces of the mercenary trio staring back at him. His gaze snaps back to Mason's features, "Wu--"  
  
Mason holds up a hand to silence him, "You may hate Sam now, hell, you may hate _me_ , but that doesn't change the fact that you're my brother, Isaac. Family sticks together and I'm not ready to give up hope that you'll remember that some day."  
  
His hand reaches over and gives his friend's shoulder a gentle squeeze, "I don't hate you, Gates. You're not alone, you have a family--you just need to find your way back to us. You _and_ Sam."  
  
Mason turns, moving towards the door, pausing just shy of the threshold, "The girls miss seeing their Uncle Isaac, by the way."  
  
Isaac scoffs lightly, "They remember us?"  
  
A smile tugs at the corner of Mason's lips, "They remember everything." His hand tightens around the doorknob, "and Isaac?"  
  
"Yeah?" Isaac's eyes never leave the photograph in front of him.  
  
"I don't blame you for what happened on Chorus between us--and you're not the reason you're all alone. You have a family right here and we'll right here waiting for you."

The door shuts with a soft click behind him and Isaac's left perched on stool willing himself to pick up the photo. His fingers brush against the three figures in the photo, memories flashing and fading.  
  
It's a small smile, a tender tug of the lips laced with nostalgia. Perhaps Mason is right. Perhaps Isaac is wrong. Perhaps he truly does have a family.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, he isn't alone after all.

\----------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Saudade! I'm looking forward to writing the next one, given that it will revolve largely about Isaac's introspection and reflections! Perhaps even some minor flashbacks, not sure yet!  
> Stay tuned!  
> ~ Phantom


	7. Times Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters don’t get happy endings. Does that mean we’re all damned?

**Prompt: Picture of Me by Quietdrive**

**Phrase: _What if home is a person who isn't here anymore_  **

\-----------------

_**Time is changing almost everything I know** _

_**And I'm not sure where I stand** _

_**Or where I'll end up** _

_**Black and White turn to grey** _

_**And the picture of me** _

_**Starts to fade** _

\------------------

"I might not be alone after all, sis."

Isaac's fingers flex around the picture, thumb drifting aimlessly across the sloppy crease down the center. It's an old photo, one of the few he rescued from his childhood home before he was dragged halfway across the galaxy by an addict of a mother.

He's smiling, a printed memory of him and Liz--a vague recollection of Liz clamboring onto his back and riding him around their childhood backyard. Their mother had snapped a picture of their giggling faces mere seconds before their father stumbled home after another long shift and a pit stop at the liquor store. He was never a raging alcoholic, merely a man with nightmares to drown from an unforgiving war. 

He remembers it all: the fights, the abuse, the never-ceasing reminder that his father was a shattered shell and his mother--well, she wasn't much better. Through it all, he had Liz, the ever-present anchor in his life.

They kept one another alive in the hell hole they called home.

It's been years since he last saw her, what feels like almost a lifetime has passed and he can barely remember her laugh, her voice, her presence.

They were barely ten when they were separated and Isaac was never able to find out what became of his sister.

After his mother took her own life, he was on his own, lost and alone until he met Sam. After that, he encountered Mason and his surrogate family was complete.

The loss of Liz hurt a little less when Mason and Sam were around. The memories of his twin sister were a little less haunting. The nightmares were a little less daunting. He had a family, for the first time since his sister was ripped away, he had a home.

Isaac folds the photograph in half, shifting it behind the second picture in his hands--the picture Mason had given him.

It originated during basic training, they were given some R&R before they shipped out and Mason insisted on a group photo. His arms are slung haphazardly around Sam and Isaac's shoulders, an almost cheesy grin painted on his lips as Sam summoned something vaguely resembling a smile. Although, the smile looked more like a grimace--Sam hated smiling. The man's eyes bled emotion, but his features were only capable of expressing disapproval and surprise.

As for Isaac, his expression is laced with mock annoyance, eyes directed at his brothers, the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a lazy smirk.

They're happy. They haven't been through hell yet. They haven't watched every member of their squadron die in the most gruesome ways imaginable. They haven't watched one another become a shell of their former selves. They haven't experienced the agony of loss and Isaac wishes they never had.

It was only after they were discharged that Sam became distant, that Mason clung to the idea of having a family--of being normal. He knew they would go their separate ways eventually, it was only a matter of time.

He only wishes it hadn't been so soon. He only wishes they could have stuck together a little while longer.

Maybe. Maybe he and Sam wouldn't have gone off the deep end. Maybe they would have settled down, had families and gone to barbeques at Mason's every weekend. Maybe they could have--maybe he wouldn't--no, he can't say it.

Maybes don't count. They're possibilities, eventualities that never occur, dreams that remain, just that, dreams. He used to be a soldier and soldiers  _never_  have the luxury of what-ifs and maybes. He couldn't think like that then, he certainly can't now--not if he wants to survive.

So, he gingerly folds the photograph in half, wrapping it around the picture of him and his sister before tucking the photos away into his jacket pocket.

He pushes himself from his seated position, shuffling down the hall to pack his gear.

Mason is right. He needs to find his way home, but not until he has his vengeance. He's not ready to forgive Sam. A betrayal is still a betrayal, no matter what their past says.

Seeing Mason drudged up old memories--old morals he'd long forgotten or suppressed. Part of him screams, furious and raging, demanding retribution. The other pleads, begging for forgiveness and mercy.

He's torn and uncertain, but it doesn't change the fact that he needs to track Sam down one way or another.

He needs to leave. He needs to find Sam on his own terms, not sit and wait. He needs to silence the nagging voice in the back of his mind, the constant reminder of Sam's betrayal--the dull aching in his ribs every time he lifts his left arm.

So, he packs, tossing arsenals into bags and clothing into duffles. He's nearly finished when he glances towards Sam's room across the hall.

So much anger, so much pain, so much betrayal. Every memory tainted with Sam's final words, " _I'm not a soldier. I'm a monster. Like you."_

His eyes narrow, jaw clenched as he snatches up his bags and starts towards the doorway. 

The bag swings across his shoulder and suddenly he's standing in the middle of the living room, eyes drifting across the miscellaneous remnants of the apartment. Suddenly, he's ten years old committing every detail of his home--of Liz, to memory.

There's a pang of nostalgia, a faint recollection of what a home is supposed to feel like and then it's gone.

Isaac's hand grazes the recliner on his way out the door, pausing in the threshold. It's a distant echo of laughter, a trace of warmth, a fleeting memory of a previous lifetime--a time long past.

"Goodbye, Liz."

He whispers her name and leaves, retreating from the grief and agony he never let himself process. Retreating from the gaping hole in his chest, gnawing away at his soul. Retreating from the faint recollection of what was once home.

It was never a place, one specified location, no coordinates, building or ship. No, home for Isaac Gates--it was always the people, rather than the place.

Liz. Sam. Mason.

They were home for the shattered mercenary, but they're gone now. Mason wants to welcome him back but he doesn't belong there. Not anymore. He's committed atrocities that he'll never be able to outrun.

He's not the man he used to be, no matter how he tries to justify it. He  _is_  a monster.

And monsters don't get happy endings.

\----------------

"Come on, Gates. Let it go."

"No. I need to know!"

Mason shook his head, amusement in every inch of his features, "Does it really matter?"

"Of course it does!"

"It really doesn't." Sam supplied, eyes never leaving the disassembled sniper rifle on the table before him.

 _"It really doesn't,_ " Isaac mimicked with a sneer, "bite me, Ortez. Wu, just answer the question."

Mason heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, "No, the suit doesn't look cheap."

" _Thank you._  That's all I wanted to know," Isaac returned, slipping his jacket back off and tossing it across the back of the closest chair, "was that so hard?"

"It was excruciating," Sam retorted, peering through his scope.

"Funny," Isaac rolled his eyes, sinking into the worn recliner, "have you mapped out every last millimeter of the compound yet?"

It was mockery, one of Isaac's idle jabs at Sam's thorough tendencies. The broad mercenary had grown accustomed to the barbs long ago and had since learned to dismiss the remarks. His eyes never left his weapon as he absently waved in the general direction of the data pad on the table.

Isaac snorted indelicately, leaning forward far enough to snatch up the pad. It was a loud sigh as he reclined into the dated leather, scrolling through the schematics, "This looks fairly straight forward."

"It's what we can't see that I'm worried about." Mason returned, grey orbs locked on the floor thoughtfully.

"Such as?"

"Patrols. Guards. It's all subject to change. We have no idea how extensive this guy's resources are, so if we want to catch him off-guard, we'll need to be quick."

"That won't be a problem," Isaac smirked, tossing the data pad back onto the table, folding his hands behind his head, "we've taken out worse."

"I hope you're right."

\---------------

" _Siris, squad moving in from the west._ "

"Copy," Mason slipped around the corner, crouching as the patrol strolled past. His eyes lingered on their retreating forms before tearing down the corridor they'd just come from.

His pace slowed to a cautious creep towards the door, "This is it," he whispered, unholstering his sidearm and positioning himself on one side of the door, "Felix? You in position?"

" _Ready to blow this joint on your order."_  There was a distinctive snap of the neck at the other end of the commlink. " _Oh yeah, and their make-shift, pathetic excuse for a command center is now, officially, secure_." A quiet thud, " _awaiting signal._ "

"All right, I'm moving in."

The door glided open and Mason executed the two guards just inside, "Hands in the air!" His weapon leveled even with the man looming over the dissection table in the center of the room.

Bone-chilling. The laugh that slipped through rotten teeth and marred lips threw Mason off-guard.

"A mercenary. It's been some time since one of your kind has dared to attempt the bounty on my head. Still, I would be lying if I said I wasn't  _dying_  to add to my collection. Tell me, little hunter, did you come alone?"

Mason's expression hardened, tightening his grip on his weapon, "I said, hands in the air." His voice dropped an octave, his features a cross between disgust and determination as he cautiously approached the man behind the table.

The stench of the opened body was nauseating. It wasn't quite rotting, but it was dated and fuming, kind of like Isaac's socks after a mission.

The man behind the table was elderly, a mess of protuding joints and wrinkled skin. He seemed unfazed by the weapon in Mason's hand, "Do you intend to shoot me, young man? Is this a revenge plot of some manner? Oh! Did I kill someone you care about? That must be it! Though, I don't remember any victims who--"

"Save it!" Mason cut him short, moving closer to the table, "You're going to prison for a very long time, so I suggest you save your dramatics for the court room."

Another haunting cackle and Mason struggled to suppress a shudder, "Move it!"

The man slowly stepped away from the corpse, bloody, gloved hands held up in mock surrender, "Or what? You'll shoot me? God knows I deserve it, but no one has ever quite been man enough to do it. Oh, the sheer number of people I've carved up. You wouldn't believe how many women and children--"

Mason fired, a bullet lodging in the man's shoulder, swiftly silencing the monolguer, "Open your mouth again, and the next one goes between your eyes! Do I make myself clear?"

"Struck a nerve, did I? Intriguing..."

Mason snapped the cuffs on, shoving him towards the door, "Walk."

" _Siris, status update."_

"I have the target, proceeding to exit now."

" _Understood. Moving to secondary position. Rendezvous at south entrance."_

"Copy that. Felix, activate timers and meet us at the rendezvous point ASAP." Mason ordered as he began to guide the man through the labyrinth, checking corners and avoiding patrols.

" _Copy that, purple leader. Timers primed and activated. We have five minutes."_

"You're destroying all your evidence," a callous crackle of the voice.

"Believe me, the cops have more than enough evidence on you." Mason retorted, giving him a rough shove forwards.

"Do they? Where are the witnesses? The bodies?"

"Shut up."

"Ah yes, dissolved and disposed of. Their evidence is circumstantial. I'll be out in a matter of hours."

Mason bit back a retort, briefly considering lodging a bullet between the maniac's eyes. The bounty hadn't specified dead or alive, but execution wasn't how they operated.

They were through the doors and approaching the van Sam had parked when the man spun, somehow producing a scalpel from his sleeve. "So you didn't come alone! Oh! More meat to carve--"

He was blind-sided by a blow from Isaac, fist colliding with oily, grotesque flesh and bone. It had been a well-placed punch to the jaw, sending him sprawling onto the pavement, "God, do you  _ever_ shut up?" He flexed his gloved fingers while Mason snatched up the scalpel.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. I was getting tired of his  _rambling_  over the comm." Isaac hoisted the unconscious serial killer into the back of the van, performing a swift pat down to ensure their  _guest_  wasn't packing any more  _surprises_. Once satisfied that he was defenseless, he slammed the back doors shut, "Guy certainly likes to hear himself talk."

"He's psychotic." Mason returned, starting towards the passenger side door.

"You know, bounty said he didn't  _have_ to be alive?" A suggestive smirk.

"We're not gonna kill him, Gates." Mason returned almost sternly, "he's not even worth the ammunition."

"Codenames," Sam reprimanded from the driver's seat.

"We could make it look like an accident? He'd get a taste of his own medicine." Isaac folded his arms across his chest, blatantly ignoring Sam's remark as Mason closed the passenger side door.

Mason rolled his eyes, amusement playing at the corner of his lips, "Get on your bike, we need to go before those guards figure out their boss is missing."

"How does a guy like that even  _get_ lackeys? I mean, seriously, who would follow that psychopath?" Isaac slipped his helmet on, revving the engines of his motorcycle.

"It's one of life's great mysteries," Mason smirked, "once we're out of range, activate the detonators early."

"Roger that," a two finger salute accompanied by a devilish smirk.

The van pulled away with Isaac close behind, trailing until they were nine blocks away. His finger found the button on his wrist gauntlet, activating the explosives. In the rear view mirror, he watched the warehouse burst into flames, the explosions echoing in the otherwise silent night.

In a matter of minutes, the building was consumed in flames and left to fiery grave at long last. It had been their target's lair for many years, the sheer number of murders, the bloodstains, it's only fair that the warehouse--the only witness to every brutal slaughter--be cleansed through flames. The irony didn't elude Isaac, as flames may very well be what the murderer will face in Hell.

He deserved to burn for all he'd done and Isaac intended to see that he did.

\-------------------

"We'll keep him here until we can establish contact with local law-enforcement."

"Why not revisit the warehouse? There's bound to be cops crawling all over that place after the explosion last night."

"This man has evaded prison for years. It's not a coincidence. The most likely explanation is that there's corruption in the police force." Sam interjected, eyeing their bound captive through the doorway.

"He did say he'd be out in a matter of hours," Mason touched his chin thoughtfully, "we need to be certain that when he's locked, he stays locked up."

"So, what? One of us stays here and guards the serial killer while the other two go investigate a possibly corrupt security force?"

"Great idea, let's do that." Mason smirked, clapping Isaac's left shoulder, a look of satisfaction etched into his features.

Isaac threw his hands up in exasperation, "This goes  _way_  beyond the contract!"

"Hey, it was your idea to check out the law enforcement," Mason quipped, moving back towards the table to retrieve his weaponry, "and since it was  _your_  idea,  _you_  get first watch."

"No! Absolutely not! That asshole will be dead by the time you get back. He runs his mouth too much!"

"Then the two of you will get along fine," Sam countered coolly, sliding his rifle onto his back.

" _You two will get along fine,_ " Isaac mocked before turning back to Mason, "can't Ortez stay with him?"

"Codenames," Sam chided without looking up.

"Just sit in the room with a gun and keep an eye on him. He's restrained, so he shouldn't be much of a problem. Just gag him if he gets too mouthy. We'll be back as soon as we can."

Isaac watched the two of them leave before snatching up his magnum and stalking into the secluded room in which their captive resided.

"You'll get along fine.  _You'll get along fine_. Yeah, we'll get along, after I shoot him in the face. We'll get along, Ortez, he'll be dead and we'll get along  _great_! Best  _fucking_  friends!" Isaac muttered, adopting a whiny, childish voice to mimic Sam.

He stopped in front of their prisoner, a scowl etched into his features, "Listen up, you piece of wrinkly shit. You sit there and keep your mouth shut. Run your mouth, you die. Got it?"

"Oh, this one has a temper. Charming." An amused tilt of the head, "tell me, do they always leave you on babysitting detail?"

Isaac rolled his eyes, perching himself on the corner of the worn desk in the corner, "Do you always run your mouth?"

"Only when it suits my needs."

"This isn't one of those times, so zip it." Isaac returned coldly, glancing out the door towards the exit.

"Tell me, Felix, was it? How long have you been a mercenary?"

"Classified."

"Hmm, so, a few years at least. Given you and your friends' training, I'd surmise that you're ex-military. Am I wrong?"

Isaac set his jaw, eyes never meeting their captive's.

"I'll take your silence as confirmation." He quietly examined Isaac's posture, noticing the rigidity of his frame, the tense expression, the tightened grip on his weapon. "How many men have you killed, Mr. Felix?"

Isaac glanced towards him, "Count's about to go up one more if you don't shut up."

"Oh, come now. Can't one man have a harmless conversation with another?"

"Not interested in anything you have to say."

"Just one  _little_  piece of information!" He leaned forward, an almost crazed look in his eyes as they bore into Isaac's very soul, "you were a soldier! How many? Or, perhaps you never fought the Insurrectionists. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps you only killed those aliens! How many, Felix? How much blood have you spilt? How  _much_?!"

Isaac's expression vaguely resembled uncertainty and discomfort, though he somehow maintained a composed tone, "You're insane."

"Oh, insanity is a relative term--"

"Not for you, it's not." Isaac cut him off, disgust replacing discomfort. "Your demented ass is going to be an imprisoned ass by the end of the day. Talking won't change that."

"Why change it? For all the murders I've committed, don't you think I deserve  _worse_  than prison?" He peered at Isaac, a wicked smile tugging the corner of marred lips upwards into an unsettling expression. "Don't you think I deserve to  _burn_?"

Isaac grit his teeth, standing and moving towards the door in search of a gag.

"Oh, the echoes of their screams, I can still hear them." There was content, borderline pleasure in his features as his eyes slid shut. "Can't you, Felix? Can you hear the screams of your victims?"

Isaac froze by the door, rooted in place, back turned, "They weren't victims. They were executioners." His eyes were shut, shoulders tense, ears echoing with the wails and screams of human and Covenant alike.

"Were they? They were living beings, just like you and I--"

Isaac whirled, "I'm nothing like you, you fucking freak!"

He looked almost amused, calmly reclining against the back of his chair, "Are you so sure? The only difference between you and me, Mr. Felix, is that you killed during a war."

"You killed those people for no reason. I killed those hinge-headed bastards to save humanity! We're nothing alike!"

He didn't realize he'd raised his weapon, cocked and trembling and aimed at the man in the chair. The smug look said it all, "I ask again: are you so sure that we're different. Because, from where I sit, you look  _exactly_  like I did the first time I pulled the trigger."

"Shut up!"

"We're monsters, Felix. Creatures warped by circumstance, abominations of the highest order. We kill because we think we have to, but deep, deep down--buried beneath the false sense of morality and the warped sense of reality--we do it because we  _like_  it."

He leaned forward, an eery darkness Isaac had never seen overshadowing the wrinkles and scars. Isaac retreated closer to the doorway, the captive's words gnawing at his soul like some forbidden truth.

No, he killed them because he had to. He's not a monster. He didn't enjoy it--he  _couldn't_  have.

He's  _not_  a monster.

That's what he told himself. That's how he slept at night. That's how he  _survived_.

"You're a monster, Felix, and monsters don't get happy endings. I'll see you in Hell."

It sent him over the edge, and before he could stop himself, he squeezed the trigger.

It was a headshot--an execution of the cleanest manner. The man's features were frozen, not in pain or agony, only glee for all eternity.

Isaac's gun clattered to the floor as he stumbled backwards against the door frame. He curled up against the wall, orbs locked on the lifeless, grinning maniac.

"You first, asshole." A wavering whisper, a vain final attempt at disassociating himself with the monster in the chair.

It wasn't until Sam and Mason returned that Isaac's eyes left the body. They were hollow, terror and realization wrapped into one trembling mercenary.

Sam didn't say anything, only a quick once-over of the scene before moving to retrieve the tarp from the back of the car.

Mason knelt beside Isaac, gently touching his arm, "What happened?"

It wasn't harsh, merely a gentle query, a cautious question.

"He--he called me a monster. Compared me to him. I'm not like him. Those aliens--I only ki--they were gonna take you and Sam away. I didn't have a choice." Isaac whispered, a rambling, shaking mess of silent tears and fearful fury.

"I lost my temper, Mace. He said I was like him but--I'm not. I can't be, I can't--"

Mason's firm embrace silenced him, cradling his lean form close, "You're  _not_  like him, Isaac. He was insane, a guy willing to drag anyone he could with him to Hell. He was damned and he knew it, and he thought he could take you with him."

Isaac clung to Mason's arm, a desperate grasp on the only raft keeping his head above water, the only thing between him and drowning in the riptide of terror and uncertainty.

"He said I was monster."

"You're not. You're family. You did what you had to in order to protect your brothers. No one can blame you for that."

His tears ebbed away, eyes shut as Mason held him. Sam returned from the car, the corpse already locked away in the trunk, out of sight and hopefully, out of mind until it could be delivered and the bounty collected.

He watched them for a quiet moment before kneeling on the other side of Isaac, "You did all right. He got what he had coming."

Isaac's eyes found Sam's as he offered a weak nod, exhausted and confused. Sam tried a shadow of a smile, giving Isaac's shoulder a gentle squeeze, "Let's get out of here."

Isaac nodded his agreement, allowing Mason and Sam to help him out of the car.

"I told you he'd be dead by the time you got back." Isaac offered a weak, sheepish smile.

"Yes. Yes, you did." Mason chuckled lightly, easing him into the backseat, "now get some rest, Gates. Ortez and I will take it from here."

They truly were his family. The anchors in his life. The home he knew he'd been missing for so long. He never wanted to lose them.

Not then. Not ever.

He would fight whatever came their way because it's just like Mason said, "You're family, and family sticks together."

If only that were true.

\----------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> So, yeah, this chapter took a lot longer than the usual 2-3 week wait. I hope y’all can forgive me, because, in my defense, it’s over 4k, so… XD (In all seriousness, I kept hitting writers block and couldn’t decide where I wanted to go with chapter, and after I did, I just went ham on it.)
> 
> Also, shout out to @epsiloneridani07 and @frequentlydistressed for allowing me to reference their OC (Liz) and borrow some of their headcanons!
> 
> ****IMPORTANT: Due to college resuming and the workload of said schooling, chapters will be reduced from twice a month to once!****
> 
> So, feel free to leave a kudo/comment and let me know your thoughts. I survive off of feedback (it’s really the only thing that kept me motivated on this chapter).
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ Phantom


	8. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain catches up sooner than we think–how we react defines us.

**You made a mess of your life**

**And you've been burned once or twice**

**Now you play roulette with the water gun**

\------------------

"That can't be right--"

He's scrambling and scanning and scared. It's not possible, there's no plausible explanation.

_How the hell did he know?!_

It's then he realizes there is, in fact, someone who knows he's still alive--someone he's encountered not long ago, " _Wu_ , goddammit! He said wasn't going to say anything." Isaac frantically checks the long-range scanners for approaching ships.

There's nothing--nothing beyond stardust, asteroids and ghosts of a hellish past. He's alone--again.

The flash in the corner of his panel reminds him of the recording, but it doesn't mean Isaac's heart stops racing, it doesn't mean he's indecisive about opening the message, it certainly doesn't mean that the riptide of emotions tearing through his chest will subside any time soon.

It takes him a moment, but he finds the strength to press trembling fingers against the key, Sam's frame flickers to life on the viewscreen. He looks tired,  stressed, hesitant.

It almost takes Isaac back to the war, back to before Sam's betrayal, back when they were brothers.

There's a knot in his throat, a nauseating pit in his stomach, an anxious twitch deep in his ribs--scars from Chorus.

"Felix--I'm not entirely sure how to begin this, but..." Sam rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting to the floor before they find the camera once more, "I know you're alive."

Isaac's breath catches in his throat, eyes darting cautiously towards the long-range scanners every few moments.

"I know you're scared. I know you're--" he sets his jaw for a moment, flexing his fingers, "I know you're scared of me, Felix."

There it is. Out in the open and Sam's eyes bleed regret. "And that's not something I ever wanted. We were--are--partners. Somewhere along the line, I don't know if it was during the war or when we ran jobs with Siris, but somehow we forgot that."

Isaac presses himself against the back of his chair, biting back the retort on the tip of his tongue, the fury-induced tears threatening to spill from the corner of his eyes, the gaping hole in his soul.

"In any case, I want to fix this. I know what happened on Chorus is unforgivable. I'm not asking for forgiveness," Sam sits up a little taller, shoulders tensing slightly, "I'm asking for a chance to talk."

Isaac almost scoffs, fear ebbing away, rage consuming his features, "You can go straight to hell, Ortez!"

Sam can't hear him, but it doesn't stop Isaac from feeling a fraction of a percent better. He's about to shut it off when Sam's voice catches his attention.

"Gates--" it's a broken whisper, hazel orbs shifting from unforgiving metal to meet Isaac's gaze, "I'm sorry. For everything."

The message stops, coming to an abrupt conclusion and Isaac is frozen in place. On the console, a set of coordinates flare a burning crimson, begging him to input them into the navicomputer.

He's hesitant and paranoid. Maybe Sam wants to finish the job. Maybe Wu told him because he knows how much of a monster Isaac's become. Maybe--maybe he means it.

He sets his jaw and transfers the coordinates to the navicomputer. He doesn't activate the engines, doesn't guide the ship into slipspace. Instead, he settles into the pilot's seat and glares at the console.

There are choices he can make, decisions that will determine where he goes from here. The nagging ache in his ribs demand retribution, the quiet memories tucked away in his chest pocket plead for reconciliation.

He's uncertain and he's tired. He's torn and he's angry.

_Why is it always so complicated?_

His eyes drifted back to the frozen screen, to Sam's mournful look, to the only brother he'd ever known. "It didn't have to be this way, Sam. It never had to be this way. We could have finished the job, left Chorus richer than we ever could have imagined. But you grew a conscience, after years of killing monsters, you grew a fucking sense of morality. And then you left me to die."

His shoulders sag and his chin drops to his chest, "How the hell am I supposed to forgive that?"

The sobs rip through him unexpectedly, shoulders shaking, hands clenched into fists. He's crying and then he's screaming.

He's not sure how long he falls apart, not sure how he ends up in the back of the cockpit, knees hugged to his chest. He's not sure how he's still alive after everything, but he is.

It takes a few minutes, but he gathers his wits enough to stretch out the cramped muscles in his knees. It takes a minute, but he finds the strength to pull the photographs from his pocket, the ones that rest just above his heart.

He unfolds the dated paper gently, brushing a thumb tenderly over his sister's grinning face, a sorrowful, reminiscent smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He presses two fingers to his lips before touching her face in the picture, "Miss you, Liz."

He tucks it behind the other, fresh tears slipping unnoticed down his cheeks. It's a blaring reminder, an aching knife in the back, but his eyes never leave the three brothers.

_Why is it always so complicated?_

"The hell am I supposed to do now?"

In the back of his mind, he can almost hear Mason's chiding, "You forgive him."

He used to say that whenever the two of them would bicker and words went too far. He was always the one holding them together, no wonder they crumbled after Mason left.

If Isaac were feeling more spiteful, he'd blame Wu for the mess he's in, but it's not his fault. They lost sight of things on Chorus, lost sight of their humanity.

It was only a matter of time before they lost sight of each other.

There's a light scoff somewhere under his breath as he folds the picture over and tucks both back into his jacket pocket.

"Forgiveness doesn't come easy, Wu." He mumbles, hauling himself to his feet and finds his way back to the pilot's seat, sliding into the dated leather with a heavy sigh.

The panel glares back, coordinates set and begging to be pursued. It's an impulsive decision, but he primes the engines for slip space. His fingers rest uneasily on the gear, flexing and curling around the cold metal beneath anxious skin.

"Fuck it." He slams the gear forward, forcing the engines to fire, launching him into slip space.

It's only after the stars blur together and the autopilot is engaged that Isaac relinquishes his vice grip on the console and settles back into his seat, the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in slipping past his lips.

He casts a glance towards the frozen image of Sam on the comms panel, "See you soon, Sam."

\---------------

What the hell was he thinking? He can't be here. Sam's here--he's on this planet camped out in a cantina watching, waiting.

_He's going to kill me, he'll--_

Isaac stops, steadying the surging adrenaline, calming the anxious nerves, easing the screaming ache in his ribs.

_No. He's not gonna hurt me. Not if I kill him first._

He's out of his seat and in the back of cockpit, retrieving weapons and gauging tactical advantages when he catches a glimpse of his armor piled haphazardly in the corner.

He sets the magnum aside, taking the two strides over to the heap of armor plating. His fingers curl around the underside of the helmet, perching himself against the wall, tinted glass bearing into brown.

Behind the visor, buried beneath the guilt and pain, Isaac watches the memories unfold.

He's back in the field, covering Sam's six as he picks off jackals on far ridges. He's storming outposts and patrols with his brothers flanking him. He's sitting around a fire, idly throwing jabs at Mason about wanting to be a civi. He's back in a time where his brothers meant more to him than the job itself.

He was  _home_.

He blinks and reality comes crashing down, the void weighing as heavily on his heart. He's alone and more than anything--he wants to go home.

But there's no home to which he can return. He knows it and it shreds his soul piece by agonizing piece.

It isn't until the autopilot beeps and reminds him that it's he's approaching the atmosphere that Isaac sets the helmet aside and returns to his seat.

It isn't until the landing gears meet cement that Isaac can breathe. He's up and retrieving his weaponry, casting a longing glance at his armor.

The backwater spaceport would be packed, but Spartan armor would draw too much attention--Sam would spot him a mile away. So, he settles for the smuggler attire he's acquired, adjusting the leather jacket around his neck.

His fingers graze the chain of his dog tags--hesitation, but only for a moment before he snaps back, sliding his sidearm into its holster.

The adrenaline rockets through his veins as he descends the docking ramp, weaving his way into the sea of outcasts and criminals. His heart pounds so loudly in his ears, he feels as though everyone in the crowded port can hear it.

Brown find the faint, blue screen on his wrist, double checking the location and name of the cantina before he made it too far from his ship.

The only words slipping through his mind are an endless loop of: this is a trap. He can't stop, he  _won't_ stop. Sam may be expecting him, but neither one of them knows what will happen once they're face to face.

As he sidesteps and slips past filthy locals, the lump in his throat tightens, the nausea in his stomach screams. He looks up and the sky is a bleeding crimson--if he were superstitious, he'd take it as a sign that their encounter would end in a blood bath.

He doesn't want to think about it--doesn't want to consider the remote chance that Sam will finish what he started on Chorus. He reminds himself that if he takes the preemptive strike, he can--no.

It's Sam. Goddammit.  _It's Sam._

Isaac stops in his tracks, taking immediate cover behind the closest run-down wall. Everything inside screams for him to run or take the shot with the weapon his fingers instinctively found in its holster--but he can't.

He watches the broken shell of the man he so cautiously named brother all those years ago. He watches him pause at the door of the cantina, storming, grey eyes skimming over faces, no doubt in search of Isaac's.

Isaac's jaw slackens, no longer gritting and grinding teeth together when Sam's shoulders sagged. He looks disappointed, exhaustion evident even from this distance and Isaac has to quell the surging sense of responsibility--the pity for his former partner.

_Why is it always so complicated?_

He watches the broad mercenary turn and move into the cantina, no doubt in search of a secluded corner table--the man hated socializing.

It takes all the nerve Isaac has to carry himself towards the door, all the strength he has to square his shoulders and step inside. He's met with a buzzing atmosphere, smoke lacing the air, glaring lights from the makeshift dance floor.

Of course Sam would choose a public place, one where he could make a quick escape if need be--he knows the extent of Isaac's wrath.

He waits until the next song blares through the speakers before he descends the three steps between him and the bar. He perches himself against the counter, eyes drifting around the room before settling on the bartender.

"Whiskey." He tosses a few bills on the counter, eyes scoping out potential exits.

The clinking of the glass against metal is silenced by the sudden drop in base and the screams of drunken dancers. It's all Isaac can do to keep from rolling his eyes.

He downs the drink before his eyes catch a glimpse of Sam hunched over his beer in the corner.

Isaac's expression hardens, jaw setting and shoulders squaring. He waves the bartender off and starts towards the table, hand already wrapped around his magnum, determination flaring the closer he drew.

He's inches away and he swears his heart is going to pound its way out of his chest. He's not sure sure how, but somehow, he jerks the gun free from its holster and all but jams it in Sam's startled face.

Somehow--somehow he finds the composure to deliver the only words he can think of.

"Hey Sam, miss me?"

\--------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> So, this one is honestly more of a filler chapter than action and flashbacks! BUT check out that quality introspection and Isaac falling apart. The next chapter will pick up where this one leaves off (I’ve already started it, so….I’m hella excited cause there’s gonna be a lot of issues addressed plus a plot twist!).
> 
> Leave a kudo/comment and let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ Phantom


	9. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness isn’t an easy thing to give, but sometimes the bond runs too deep for anything but reconciliation.

**No, can't count the list of things**

**I know are wrong with me**

**No need to justify them**

\-------------

Sam stares up at him and it's not fear or anger Isaac sees in his eyes. It's relief.

He wasn't anticipating Sam pushing himself to his feet, completely ignoring the barrel of the gun now pressed into his abdomen. He wasn't anticipating Sam tugging him into a crushing embrace.

He's frozen, confused, disoriented.

"What the fuck?"

It's all that can slip out of his mouth, furiously fighting back the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

"You're alive." Sam manages, never relenting his grip around Isaac's leaner frame.

"No shit. You're not going to be unless you let go!" Isaac somehow finds enough of a resentful spark in the waning embers to snap, desperate to regain the space, the detachment, the searing hatred that would justify gunning Sam down.

"How?"

Isaac squirms uncomfortably, "You asked me that, you--"

Sam pulls away, confused, questioning, "What are you--?"

Isaac's features harden, grasping his gun a little tighter. It hadn't been him. It was an illusion, an unfortunate side effect of exhaustion and raging paranoia.

He summons what little composure remains, pistol remaining trained on the larger mercenary, "Your only concern right now is convincing me not to blow your head off. You left me for dead, Ortez--I wanna know why!"

There's a pang of guilt and a flash of regret. Sam's eyes bleed remorse and it takes everything Isaac has not to lower his weapon.

"I suppose that's the only thing that matters right now." Sam meets his gaze slowly before cautiously seating himself in the booth, gesturing to the aged wooden bench across from him.

Isaac looks between him and the seat incredulously, "You want to _talk_?"

"That's why you came here, isn't it?"

The less mature side of him wants to stick out his tongue, but he's long past the point of petulance.

So, he slides in across from his former partner, waves off the waitress and allows the magnum to clatter onto the table rather loudly, as if to make the statement: _I'm listening, but reluctantly._

There's a shadow of smile at the corner of Sam's lips and Isaac almost doesn't recognize it--it's not a grimace.

"Since when do you smile? Better question: when the actual _hell_ , did you start _hugging_ people?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Right now, I wouldn't believe _anything_ you say."

Sam visibly flinches, eyes shifting to the rugged table between them, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity. Isaac knows the look, the internal battle to calm the riptide of emotion simmering just beneath the surface.

The larger mercenary had mastered the art of appearance, seemingly calm, but without a helmet to hide the expressions--the emotion seeping into his gaze--he's defenseless under Isaac's scrutinizing gaze.

"You gonna sit there all day and brood, or are you going to answer the question?"

Sam straightens, leveling grey orbs on the lean mercenary, "There's no easy answer to that question."

"Really? Cause it seemed pretty damn simple when you left me at the mercy of those rainbow colored morons."

Isaac's voice betrays no shortage of pain, it never cracks, but he swears he came close. He watches Sam squirm and for a split second, he wonders if there is no real reason. For a split second, he wonders if Sam broke--the delicate shell shattering in a harrowing moment of surrender. For a split second, Isaac wonders if his brother gave up on him.

"You remember the Temple? The--AI?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"He told me what you're afraid of," he leans forward, forearms resting on wood, eyes intently studying Isaac's struggling expression. "I know you were--are--scared of me, Felix. I know you always struggled with control--or the lack thereof before and after the war. Your whole life you've lost people, your--"

"- _don't_!" His fingers find the grip of the magnum, "Don't bring her into this. I've spent more than enough time mourning her, so you keep her name _out_ of your mouth, Ortez."

Sam lifts his hands slightly, conceding, "My point is that you thought you could hang on to Siris and I, just a little longer, and after everything that's happened, I don't blame you. But, what happened on Chorus, the things we did--" He hesitates, eyes falling to the table in an effort to find the words that have abandoned him.

"You couldn't handle any more." Isaac finishes for him, his arms folding across his chest, watching the larger mercenary drag his eyes up to meet hazel. "You were still fucked from the war and when we took the job--it was right after Mace left. You weren't prepared for it."

He offers little more than a nod, fingers once curled into a fist relaxing, flexing cautiously to ease tightened tendons.

"And betraying me?" There's an edge to his voice--eerily calm, expectant,  and altogether unsettling.

The silence hung heavily around them, seemingly muted beneath the roaring of the cantina. Sam doesn't know how to answer, but he has to try, he owes Isaac that much.

"We've been partners for a long time and to--to find out that the _one_ thing you were terrified of, was _me_?" Grey glisten beneath elegant lashes, "I didn't want to be the perfect soldier anymore. I never had been."

Isaac tilts his head slightly, listening intently to the only confession he'd ever been able to drag out of his brother in what felt like decades--hell, it probably had been decades since Sam last bore his soul.

"I was a monster, Felix; no better than those we fought with Siris--no better than the _Covenant_. I couldn't continue down that road."

Hazel falls to splintering wood, agonizing, crumbling, crying, "And then I--goddammit!"

His fist lands with a thud on the solid boards, startling no one but the broad mercenary across from him. It takes a moment, but the rage slips from his frame and his hand flattens in defeat, "I wanted to keep fighting."

Sam has to strain to hear his words, but he doesn't dare move. Isaac has always been unstable, in more ways than one, but this is quite possibly the worst he's ever seen him.

" _That's_ why you abandoned me. It's my fault. It's _always_ my _fucking_ fault." The carefully maintained wall shatters and Isaac sags into the bench, composure and strength be damned.

It's then that Sam stands, moving cautiously to the other side of the table. He takes the gun from its place on the table and sets it out of Isaac's reach before awkwardly taking a seat beside his brother.

Isaac is vaguely aware of the looming presence beside him. He doesn't care. He's been right all along. He _is_ the reason everyone leaves him. He faintly registers Sam's hand awkwardly patting his back, noting the caution and tension in the gesture in and of itself.

"It's...all right, Felix."

"You don't," his voice cracks and it takes all he has to find it again, "you don't get to fucking say that."

It's a weak retort, a bite with no sting, but Sam doesn't relinquish his hold, "I won't leave. Not again."

"You've said that before. It didn't stop you then, how--"

"I _won't_ leave you again." Sam reiterates firmly, squeezing his shoulder a little tighter to make his point. "You're my brother, Felix, only family I have left. It was wrong to leave you at the mercy of the Reds and Blues. I'm sorry."

It's the words he'd dreamt of hearing since the fall, the agony-ridden apology he'd longed for. He never imagined hearing it sitting side-by-side in a filthy cantina, unable to find a reason to kill his partner.

Life has a sense of humor and Isaac hates it.

"Apology accepted." He bites out, empty, dismissive as he pushes Sam away, struggling, once more, to find a sense of composure.

Sam nods, quickly sliding out of the booth and retreating back to his seat, waiting for Isaac to collect himself. He waves the waitress over, ordering Isaac his usual and waits.

Isaac's three drinks in, nursing his fourth, when he meets Sam's gaze again, inviting the inevitable question from his partner, "What now?"

"We part ways. You have your closure, I have mine. No point in dragging this out any longer."

"Felix--"

"--Sam. Would it kill you to use my name once? Just _once_?"

Sam hesitates, struggling to find his voice, "Gates," Isaac rolls his eyes, but it was as close as the emotionally constipated mercenary was going to get, "I know you're bitter about everything that's happened, but, we've always looked out for one another. Can't we--"

"--you know, Wu came to see me." Isaac cuts him short, bloodshot brown finding their way upwards from the glass in his hand.

The alcohol had begun to kick in, allowing the demons within to find their voices.

Sam pauses, leaning back in his seat, "When?"

"At one of the safe houses. I triggered a sensor, hadn't realized it until he showed up hiding in some damn corner like a fucking creeper."

"I never received an alert."

"Sensors were still tied in with _The Harbinger._ You know what he told me?"

Sam arches an eyebrow, a silent request for his friend to continue.

"He said I should forgive you. Some bullshit about us coming home." Another portion of his beverage down his throat, "said they were waiting for us." His eyes soften, tension and agony ebbing away, his voice faltering to a faint murmur, "He said the girls miss seeing us."

Sam's shoulders sag, eyes bleeding nostalgia and a tenderness Isaac hasn't seen in years, "They can't possibly--"

"--remember us?" Isaac scoffs lightly, "Wu says they remember everything." The corner of his lips tug upwards, allowing a tired smile, "even the time you let Mel make you look like a girl."

Sam tilts his head, something vaguely resembling amusement and annoyance crossing his features, but his frame betrays relief. Isaac had smiled, something Sam hadn't expected him to do after everything that's happened.

It takes him a moment, but Sam finds his voice, "Why don't we go home then?"

Isaac's glass hits the table abruptly, startling the larger mercenary and shattering the moment, "No!" It's louder than he intends, but the buzz in the back of his mind blurs reality with a drunken daze, one that immediately prompts him to lower his voice, "no, I'm too much of a monster to ever go back. I'm no good for those kids."

"Gates, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. It's true." Isaac tries to beckon the waitress over for another round, but Sam waves her off, insisting his partner doesn't  need anymore.

He turns back to Isaac, propping his elbows on the edge of the table, "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"I do, though, I really do. Those kids need role models, _heroes_. Not a broken merc with a history of genocide." His words are beginning to slur and Sam's already out of his seat to catch his brother tipping over out of the booth.

He manages to catch Isaac before his head hits the floor, carefully hoisting him up and over his shoulder.

He drops some money onto the table before picking up the magnum left on the table and starts out the door, Isaac's incoherent mumbling echoing over his shoulder.

They're back on board Sam's ship, _A'rynasea,_ where he gently lays Isaac down on the berth before taking a seat on a crate across from him.

"Get some rest, Isaac...we'll finish this when you wake up."

\-------------------

The low and lengthy groan alerts Sam of the rousing mercenary, already dragging a hungover frame to a seated position.

"What the fuck happened?" Isaac scrubs groggily at his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"You got drunk." Sam supplies, holding out a cold bottle of water, "here. You need to hydrate."

Isaac glances between the bottle and Sam's solemn expression before reluctantly accepting the plastic bottle and opening it up, "Thanks, _mom_."

Sam almost snorts, almost, but he catches himself, opting, instead to prop himself against the wall across from Isaac. His gaze flickers over the scarred tissue along his partner's collar bone, mutilated carnage stealing a glimpse from beneath the collar of his shirt.

"What happened?"

Isaac glances up, noting Sam's nod towards his neck, "The fall. Turns out armor lock only does you so much good when you're thrown over the edge of a floating alien temple."

Sam doesn't wait, doesn't ask for permission when he steps closer and pulls the material aside to examine the extent of marred tissue.

"Hey!" Isaac tries to swat his hand away, but to no avail, "boundaries, man!"

Sam ignores the vain resistance and relinquishes his grip on Isaac's shirt, "Did you sustain any more injuries?"

Isaac scowls up at him, straightening his jacket, "If I tell you, promise not to inspect them all?"

Sam tilts his head and Isaac can feel the waves of annoyance crashing against his sarcastic deflections.

There's a distinct sigh of exasperation before  he found the right words, "Broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, what I think was a concussion." A finger extends with each injury, pausing only long enough to meet Sam's gaze, "oh yeah, and the pain of being betrayed by a lifelong friend."

Sam doesn't like the pointed look from his partner as he reclines against the wall, the smug smirk adding to the already suffocating guilt that's haunted him since Chorus.

"You got your apology," Sam retorts shortly, eyes narrowing in response to the accusation.

"Oh, come on. You know me better than that. You're not living this one down for awhile." Meaningful upward twitch of the lips.

Sam cuts the irritable scowl short, "Drink your water."

Isaac watches him disappear into the cockpit, "Where you going? I thought we were gonna talk?"

"You're obviously still drunk."

"Am not! Just--hungover, and Christ, man, could you not shout?!"

Sam's frame appears in the doorway, arms folded, shoulder supporting the rest of his weight against the door frame, "Are you done with the petulant jokes?"

"Are you done being a dick?"

Isaac leans away from Sam, the larger mercenary's expression a cross between deadpan and murderous, "Okay, okay. What the hell did you want to ask me anyway?"

He's not prepared for the tension to drain so suddenly from Sam's frame, for his expression to soften and apprehension to take root somewhere deep in the chasm of grey gazing back at him.

"I told you that you wouldn't believe me when I explained what caused a change."

"Yeah, I remember. Then I made a comment about distrust, so, go on." Isaac waves his hand in a gesture that all but screamed _get to the damn point._

"There's no easy way to explain this--"

"--lemme just stop you there." Isaac holds up  hand to interject, "If this is some cliche romance level bullshit, just end the explanation right here, right now."

" _Despite_ my better judgement, I joined the Reds and Blues."

"You're kidding," Isaac snorts indelicately, amusement draining away when he recognizes the solemn expression etched into Sam's features, "you're not kidding."

"I never _kid_ , Felix. You know that."

It's a riptide of emotion, searing fury flowing through tense veins. He doesn't meet Sam's gaze, he's not even sure he can stand, "You joined those rainbow colored _morons_?"

The words slip past clenched teeth, fingers curl tighter around weeping plastic, "The _fuck_ were you thinking, Ortez?!"

He isn't sure how, but suddenly he's on his feet and he's inches away from Sam's cool exterior, "What could have possibly possessed you to join their ranks?! They're a bunch of fucking morons! They almost _killed_ me!"

"I'm aware." Sam returns calmly, waiting for Isaac to finish his onslaught of rage-induced insults.

"Then what the hell were you doing?" Isaac all but pleads for ample justification.

"To be completely honest, I don't know any more than you do when it comes to explaining how I ended up with them." Sam's voice calms, coming off more confused than collected, "they just sort of pick up strays."

"Right, that makes sense."

Sam's eyes snap back to Isaac's, "It does?"

"No! Of course it fucking doesn't!" Isaac stalks away a few feet, gathering what sanity remains as his voice drops to a hoarse whisper, "what do you want from me, Ortez?"

"I want you to come with me."

"Back to the Reds and Blues?"

"Yes. We can fix this, Gates." Sam ventures closer, a single tentative step towards his partner's stiffened frame, "if we can put this behind us, maybe things can go back to the way they were."

When Isaac's eyes manage to find their way upwards, brown meeting grey in a moment of utter defeat and exhaustion, Sam's concerned by what he sees in the depths of his brother's eyes.

"Fine. We'll try it your way. If this doesn't work out, I'm gone and we're done."

"Fair enough."

He isn't sure why he said yes, but there's no backing out now as he watches Sam start towards the cockpit, "Ortez?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to make a stop first."

"For what?"

"My ship is in the other docking bay and I'm not leaving without it."

Sam gives him a short nod, "Understood."

Isaac nods and when Sam disappears inside, he's left standing alone outside the cockpit and deep inside, he's praying he made the right decision.

Because there's no way out now.

\------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that angst-ridden chapter as much as I did writing it! Just a quick PSA: Sauade has 2 more chapters planned out, but after that, the series will have reached its conclusion! Thank you for sticking around and tolerating the trainwreck that is my posting schedule! Y'all are fantastic!
> 
> As always, feel free to leave a kudo/comment and let me know your thoughts! Your feedback keeps me motivated!
> 
> ~ Phantom


	10. Believable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness is the hardest thing to give--it’s even harder to earn after committing genocide.

**I have a confession that you will not believe**  
**That you could not perceive this freak**

\---------------

" _Don't_ _move_."

"Lower your weapon, Carolina." Sam steps between the barrel of the former Freelancer's gun and Isaac's tense frame.

"I thought he was dead." Washington tightens his grip on his magnum.

"We blew him off a fucking cliff! He should be splattered!" Tucker adds, keeping himself between the mercenary duo and Caboose.

"If you'll lower your weapons--"

"Alright. That's enough," Isaac heaves a sigh and steps around Sam, sporting more bravado than he truly has, "If you want to shoot me, shoot me--"

"Felix!"

"-- _after_ you hear what I have to say."

The siblings exchange a short, reluctant look before lowering their weapons, "Talk fast."

"You're all probably wondering how the hell I'm still alive and what the actual fuck I'm doing here. Well, it's an outrageous tale, but in short, armor lock saves lives and my partner wants to patch things up. No, I'm not going to shoot any you because I have _zero_ interest in dealing with that level of bullshit after all this time. Only reason I'm here is because Sam insists we reconcile or some shit."

Isaac folds his arms across his chest, "You don't bug me, I leave all of you alone. Sound fair?"

Wash glances towards Carolina, "What do you think, boss?"

Carolina stares him down and for a split second, Isaac thinks she's going to shoot him. It's only after the barrel of her battle rifle lowers that he allows the breath he's been holding to slip out.

"You're on thin ice, Felix. If you so much as a _look_ at my men the wrong way, Locus won't be able to save you. Do I make myself clear?"

He doesn't like how close she's standing, but somehow he manages to play it off with a wry smile and a quick nod, "Crystal."

"Good. I'll be keeping my eye on you, so don't get any ideas."

He nods, relaxing a little when she starts back towards Blue Base. His eyes drift to Tucker and Washington, both of whom are slowly corralling Caboose away.

There's a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach when Tucker levels a meaningful look on him, a warning to steer clear of him and all of Blue Team.

Isaac doesn't blame him, he'd do the exact same thing if it came to Sam and their positions were reversed.

"That went better than anticipated."

"What'd you anticipate?" Isaac turns to face his partner, curious.

"I anticipated getting shot." Sam returns coolly, starting past Isaac and towards the smaller base the Reds and Blues had built for him. 

It isn't until they're inside that Isaac speaks again, "Nice place you got. Sparsely furnished with--" he stares incredulously at the cot in the corner, the weapons on a shelf and something that vaguely resembles a bathroom in the back of the building, "--weapons."

He tries a smile, but Sam notices the prominent grimace. He's trying, Sam knows that. This isn't going to be an easy process, but they can try--they _have_ to try.

"I'll talk to the others about acquiring another cot." 

"No, it's okay. I'll just," distasteful glance at the floor, "sleep on the floor. Besides, they're not going to want to help me out--not after everything that's happened. I don't blame them, Sam, not anymore."

His voice almost cracks and Sam frowns, setting his pack off to the side and moving to stand beside his brother, "What are you talking about?"

"The things we did on Chorus, the last time I faced them. God, Sam, I tried to kill them. I was so blinded by rage that I didn't try to think about it as a mercenary or even as soldier--I thought about it as a monster. Vengeance, pride, retribution. It was stupid."

"It's in the past, Gates. There's nothing you can do to change it. The only way forward now is to accept and push through--make amends, try to reconcile with what's left of your humanity."

Isaac gives a slight nod, "That what you did?"

"It's what I'm _doing_."

Isaac snorts but offers a smile, "where do we start?"

"With the Reds and Blues."

\---------------

"I don't think I'll ever understand how you haven't killed these people yet. I mean, God! They're so fucking stupid!"

"Calm down, Felix."

"I'm trying!" Isaac flings the pillow across the room and heaves a sigh, "how are they this _stupid_?"

Sam shrugs and returns to cleaning his weapon, the same weapon he's cleaned every morning for the past six months.

The former mercenary runs like clockwork; a morning run around the complex, an improvised weightlifting regiment before he showers and begins the process of cleaning his equipment.

He provides structure, a routine to give him some semblance of normal in this fresh hell that Isaac has struggled with adjusting to--a hell he hadn't known even existed until he arrived six months ago.

He'd begun to join Sam on his runs two weeks in, a bonding exercise that dredged up memories from their time in basic training. Eventually, three months later, the Freelancers joined in, opening gateways to conversation--paths that would ease his transition as a member of their crew.

Carolina didn't shoot him threatening glares in passing, Washington allowed Caboose near the former mercenary--something Isaac dearly wishes Wash wouldn't do.

He's sure the big, blue man-child isn't so bad once you get to know him, but heaven knows he _never_ wants to get to know him.

The Reds have slowly warmed up to him, going as far as to quite forcibly include him in their debates and shitty plans. In short, Isaac actively avoids them whenever possible, especially when Grif decides to become philosophical.

The only remaining member of the Blood Gulch Crew, the only man who continues to hate him with every fiber of his being is Tucker.

He's tried, dear God, he's tried to break the wall around Tucker's exterior, but to no avail. The teal trooper is stubborn, bull-headed in more ways than one. Isaac might even dare to suggest that he can respect Tucker's resolve--his unwillingness to accept Isaac, to accept everything he's done and forgive him.

Perhaps he's right. Perhaps Isaac isn't worthy of forgiveness, but he promised Sam he'd try.

So, he heaves a sigh and starts out of their barracks, grumbling about stupidity and how he wished he could have escaped these rainbow colored morons.

It isn't long before he reaches Blue base, it isn't long until Wash directs him to Tucker's room and suddenly he's staring at the cold steel. A quiet inhale before he squares his shoulders and knocks on the door, forcing the annoyance and reluctance from his features.

"No, Caboose! I do not want to go play with--" the door slides open and Tucker's features contort in disgust, "the fuck do you want?"

Isaac clears his throat, "You have second to talk?"

"For you? Absolutely not." Tucker moves back inside his room, tension and silent fury radiating.

"Tucker--wait." Isaac reaches out, he's not sure why but it's a desperate plea. Tucker's eyes flicker between his hand and his gaze, thoroughly unimpressed and uninclined to humor him.

"Please," the lean mercenary manages, "just hear me out."

"You murdered _thousands_ of people, why the hell would I listen to _anything_ you have to say?"

It's a brief moment of hesitation, a fleeting moment of uncertainty before Isaac finds the words, "You're right."

" _What?_ "

"I said you're right. I've done some pretty fucked up shit in my life and I'll be the first to admit that Chorus was one of the worst."

" _One_ of the worst?"

"I fought in a _war_ , Tucker, there were missions I regret more than anything in the world. Kimball no doubt mentioned that--

"--she mentioned it." Tucker folds his arms across his chest, perching himself against the desk just inside the room.

"She mention the battles Sam and I were in?"

"She did, but if you're gonna use _that_ as an excuse--"

"--it's not an excuse, not even close. It's an explanation."

Teal flickers over the lean mercenary, skeptical and cautious all at once. "And you _expect_ me to _listen_ to it?"

"I'm _hoping_ you'll listen to it."

For a brief moment, Isaac's certain the simulation trooper will tell him where to shove it and close the door in his face. For a brief moment, all time stops and he's never been this nervous in his life. For a brief moment, he wishes Sam was standing beside him, an anchor he clings to far more than he likes to admit.

"Fine." Tucker beckons him inside, "you have five minutes. I promised Wash that much."

Isaac snorts, "Seems we both made promises we're reluctantly keeping."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind," Isaac waves the question off, casting a quick glance around the room before tired brown settles on Tucker's impatient expression.

"So? You gonna bare your soul or what?"

Some piece, some fragment of the soldier he'd once been begs him to leave, to keep the horrors tucked away in the box buried beneath booze and snark.

He brushes aside the hesitation, doing his damndest to square his shoulders and grasp at the fleeting confidence crumbling beneath ghosts and nightmares re-enacted behind glossed hazel.

"Right," Isaac mumbles, "bare my soul." Hands clap together, wringing together uncomfortably, "not an easy topic, but hey, let's try it."

Tucker seems unimpressed, but straightens a little from the desk, "Four minutes."

Something inside curses, but Isaac forces annoyance aside in favor of humoring his partner, "You signed up for the war, got dumped into Freelancer's little program where all you had to do was sit in a canyon and play pretend. Sam-- _Locus_ and I weren't so lucky."

He clears his throat, arms folding defensively across his chest, "We grew up together and were fortunate enough to be assigned to the same squadron. There were a lot of battles we shouldn't have walked away from, but we did."

Eyes turn downcast as words slip and slide past his tongue, hell shifting to the forefront of his mind.

"The battle Kimball told you about, the one where Locus and I were the sole survivors? It's not something you can forget."

Tucker tilts his head, slowly unfolding his arms, "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then why bring it up?"

"To set up the explanation--" Brown flickers upwards, searing sparks dancing dangerously in the dimly lit room. 

"Dude, you can't just reference some epic war story and _not_ tell me about it!"

"It's not a great story to tell, _Tucker_."

"If you want me to understand where you're coming from, you're gonna have to give me _some_ sort of picture to go off of! All I've seen is the douche bag mercenary who killed a bunch of people!"

"God, you're such a dick." Isaac heaves a sigh, scowling at the triumphant smirk etched into Tucker's features.

"Just tell the story."

"All right, all right. We were en route to an outpost the UNSC had established as a staging area."

Reluctance ebbs away as Isaac's gaze drops from the cocky trooper to the floor somewhere between the two of them. The snark falters, leaving only the ghosts of his past to haunt his every thought. His voice is hollow, quieter than Tucker's ever heard him speak in the six months he's been there.

"We didn't see them until it was too late and by then, our squadron was surrounded. Locus and I stayed together, cleared a path wherever we could, but it wasn't enough."

Trembling fingers dig into flesh, warding off the flames behind his eyes, gazing absently at the cement floor, "One by one, we watched our squadron fall. There was an explosion, knocked us apart. I landed far enough away that when the Covenant came through--they took Locus instead."

Isaac purposefully leaves Mason's name out of it, he can't bring himself to utter it.

"After the smoke settled, another squad came through, searching the remains for survivors. I came to, they told me I was all that was left. I had seen Locus's capture, I watched them drag him away. Every muscle _screamed_ for me to stand and go after him," Isaac's hands curl into fists, knuckles digging relentlessly into aching tendons.

"I couldn't stand. I couldn't move. I couldn't save him."

"What'd you do?" Tucker asks, gone is his scowl and malice, leaving only curiosity and an entranced gaze.

"I did what any sane friend would do: I disobeyed orders and charged into their camp with an assault rifle and a half-assed plan." Isaac manages a snort, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Guess you really are one of us. We wing all our plans too." Tucker smirks, almost proud of the mercenary.

"Yeah, well, long story short, I rescued Locus and we were discharged from the military shortly thereafter. What I'm trying to say is that I've always done what it takes to survive, whether it's killing aliens or attempting to exterminate a bunch of unsuspecting civilians. I recognize that what I did was horrible and unforgivable and, in a way, it makes me _almost_ like the Covenant--"

"--no, it makes you _exactly_ like the Covenant."

" _Fine_. In any case, I want to try to make things right. I want to do what Locus is doing, and, unfortunately for me, that means making peace with all of you."

Tucker snorts, "So, you're essentially trying to save your soul by apologizing to us?"

Isaac's shoulders slump, "It's a first... _tiny_ step in a _decent_ direction."

"You're gonna need more than a tiny step, Felix."

"I'm well aware of that, _Tucker_. Are we good?"

Tucker eyes him quietly for a moment, seemingly mulling over the question before he pushes off the desk and holds out a hand, "I guess. I have one condition, though."

"What?"

"No more murdering innocent people."

"What qualifies as _innocent_?"

"Felix--"

"--kidding. I agree to your terms." Isaac accepts his hand with a quiet smile.

"Good. Now, the first order of business is to subject you to Caboose's official welcoming seminar."

"No."

"Oh, yes. If you're gonna join our team, you have to experience the same level of hell the rest of us have."

Tucker guides him out of the room and towards the commons area.

"Can't I just stay in my mini base and be on my own team with Locus?"

"Nope! Your buddy joined Red Team, so you get to join Blue Team."

"You already have two Freelancers, that doesn't seem like a fair fight."

"Blue Team rules this canyon, get over it." Tucker's grin widens when he spots Caboose playing with Freckles, "hey, Caboose! Come give Felix the Blue Team welcome seminar!"

"Yes! Welcome to Blue Team, Mr. Felix!"

"Tucker--"

"--have fun."

The teal soldier leaves Isaac alone with the tallest member of Blue Team tearing across the room to come greet him.

"Goddammit."

\-------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! We're getting closer to the end! Stay tuned!  
> Leave a kudo/comment and let me know your thoughts!  
> ~ Phantom


	11. Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with the Reds and Blues isn’t easy, but a day with the Reds is enough to drive anyone insane.

"Sam, _please_."

Sam glances up from his data pad, reading the telltale signs of desperation in his partner's eyes, "What?"

"Don't make me deal with them _alone_."

"You wanted to try and connect with the Reds and Blues, this is the best course of action."

"But we both know I have a temper and I could snap anytime." Isaac protests, sinking into his cot across from Sam.

""Fel--Isaac," Sam leans forward, catching himself before he can call him by his codename, "the Reds and Blues are a group of _unique_ individuals, but, they have their moments. They're a good starting point."

Isaac's shoulders sag, he knows Sam is right and there's no way out of this one. So, when Grif pounds on the door, he shuffles across the room and opens it with nothing short of a dread-filled look.

"Felix," the orange member of Red Team greets.

"Grif."

"Ready?"

Isaac casts one last pleading glance over his shoulder towards Sam. His partner doesn't look up from his data pad and waves him off.

His shoulders slouch and he turns to face Grif, "Fine. Let's go."

\-----------------

"Felix! Less chit chat, more work!"\

Isaac's fingers curl around the side of the warthog a little tighter, "Maybe your robot should be the one hoisting a three ton car!"

"Don't be ridiculous! Who will fix the warthog then?"

"I don't know, me?!" Isaac's snaps back, digging his foot into the dusty ground, "Marines had to fix their warthogs in field, you know!"

"You? Fix a warthog? I like your sense of humor, son!" Sarge laughs, slapping Isaac on the back before strolling off.

"Él es un idiota." Lopez apologizes, tightening a bolt on the underside of the warthog.

"You read my mind." Isaac grits back, dropping his shoulder to brace himself.

"Tú puedes entenderme?"

"Wait. You can understand Lopez?" Grif asks, features contorted in confusion.

"Yeah, can't you?"

"Grif can, the rest of us don't know what he says. Sarge just makes up conversations in his head." Simmons provides, his leaner frame slipping under the weight of the large combat vehicle.

"Where'd you learn to speak Spanish?" Grif queries, slackening his force on the vehicle.

"I'll tell you if you start pushing again!" Isaac's down to one knee, straining to keep the frame off the Red Team's robot.

"Oh, shit!" Grif steps back in, shouldering some of the weight.

"Thank you." Isaac huffs, pushing back up to his feet, "Sam speaks it, sometimes he'd slip up when we were kids and I'd have to try and figure out what he was saying. l managed to pick it up fairly quickly."

"You've known Locus that long?"

Isaac glances from the warthog to the largest member of Red Team, "Yeah. Couple of orphans abandoned on some backwater planet--we really didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"Didn't you have any siblings?"

Isaac hesitates. Something inside twinges and he can almost see her face. Something inside stirs and a sad smile spreads across his lips. Something inside pleads and he almost listens.

And then he remembers. At first, they're fragments, pieces of a lifetime ago. And then they're clear, a history he won't soon forget.

Something inside reminds him to be silent, but everything else screams, begging him to utter her name once more. His eyes flicker between the members of Red Team and he realizes that this is one of the only ways he can open up to them. It's personal and it's going to hurt, but he has to do this--for Liz.

The ache in his eyes, the pain in his smile fades when he finally finds the words, "I did, once."

By now, Lopez has finished repairs and slides out from underneath the vehicle and the others can finally let it drop.

"Well, don't leave us in suspense! Tell us the dirty details!" Donut insists, hoisting himself up onto the hood of the warthog.

Isaac smirks and leans against the platform for the gunner, "I had a twin sister, Liz. We grew up on Earth, but when we were ten, we were separated after our parents got divorced. Long story short, my mom took the easy way out and I was left to survive on my own. That's when I met Sam. He saved my life day one, and I guess," the smirk fades to a reminiscent upward twitch of the lips, "he never stopped saving it. Even all these years later, he's still looking out for me like we're still kids."

"Kind of like Grif and Simmons! They've always kept an eye on each other's behinds!"

"No, we don't!" Simmons protests vehemently, struggling to cover the squeak of his voice.

Isaac casts a long, questioning glance towards the sim trooper on the warthog. He wants to question the word choice, but thinks better of it. "Not exactly, but--"

"Always on each other's backs?"

"That's even worse."

"Oh! I get it! You two are always within arms length!"

"Oh God, no! Seriously, how the hell does everything that comes out of your mouth have a sexual undertone?!" Isaac's features are contorted in disgust and a level of discomfort that he's not sure he'll ever surpass again.

"That's just Donut for you," Grif supplies with a deadpan expression.

"Hey, at least I enjoy the finer things in life!" Donut protests, sliding off the hood of the vehicle.

"The finer things don't include--"

"--I'm going to go ahead and stop you right there," Isaac interjects forcefully, "I really don't need anymore nightmares."

"You're confusing nightmares with fantasies, silly." Donut corrects with a grin.

"No, I'm not. I'm really not." Isaac returns, all hope draining from his eyes when he notices Sarge returning over Donut's shoulder. "Salty Sarge inbound."

Grif snorts, but starts to shuffle off towards the barracks. His progress is halted only by Sarge yelling, "Private Grif! Did I give you permission to scamper off with your tail between your legs?"

"First of all, I don't have a tail. Second of all, you're not in charge! We're not fighting a war anymore!"

"Is that any way to talk to your commanding officer?" Sarge cocks his shotgun and aims it at Grif.

"Do it, please, do it." Grif holds his arms out, almost as if embracing the possibility of death.

Isaac steps between them, "Sarge, put the gun away and Grif," hazel flickers to Grif's amused smile, "are you _okay_?"

"He's fine, he's just been hanging out with Lopez too much. Apparently, he makes a lot of _kill me now_ jokes." Simmons supplies, shaking his head.

"Es la verdad." Lopez adds with a nod, "Yo quiero morir."

"You're not allowed to die, Lopez. Neither are you, Grif."

"I can arrange your death, dirtbag." Sarge offers, raising his shotgun.

"The fuck is wrong with you people?" Isaac glances around Red team incredulously.

"A lot of things, but they mostly stem from that nutcase," Grif nods towards Sarge, ducking behind Isaac when the Colonel levels the barrel on him.

Isaac's had enough, he shoves Grif's hands off of his shoulders before promptly disarming Sarge with jab to the inside of his elbow and a light shove.

"That's insubordination, soldier!"

Isaac empties the cartridge and tosses the empty weapon back to the leader of Red Team, "Point it at me again and we're going to have a problem."

There's something unidentifiable in the mercenary's eyes and Sarge gives a short nod. The glint fades when he notices Sam approaching, and he doesn't think he's ever been so happy to see his brother than he is right now.

He strides past Simmons and Donut to greet him, catching his forearm, "Please, get me out of here. I'm very close to shooting Sarge and gutting Donut."

Sam arches an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Welcome to my world."

"How the hell did you tolerate these idiots for a _year_ by yourself?"

"They're an acquired taste, Gates, you get used to them."

"I don't think I _want_ to get used to them."

Sam snorts indelicately, but continues towards the group, Isaac trailing reluctantly behind him.

"This is why I prefer Blue Team, Sam." Isaac grumbles.

"Calm down."

"Locus! You need to get your soldier under control! He touched my shotgun!"

"Maybe if you didn't aim it at your own team, I wouldn't _have_ to." Isaac snaps, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why you--if you were one of my soldiers, I'd shoot you right now!"

"If I were one of your soldiers, I'd shoot _myself_."

"That's enough." Sam interjects pointedly.

Isaac shrugs, "Told you this was a bad idea."

"Gates--"

Isaac doesn't wait to hear his partner's response, already starting away from Red Base.

"Where you going?" Grif steps past Simmons.

"Somewhere  _he's_ not!"

\---------------

"Lift the warthog. Poison Grif's next meal. Carry around this canister of confetti for no goddamn reason other than I'm a senile old man who doesn't know shit about leading a team." Isaac grumbles, skipping rocks across the creek. It's one of the more reclusive corners of the valley, far enough away from both bases for peace and quiet.

"Wow, you sound _just_ like him."

Hazel shifts to his left, Washington leaning against a tree with an amused expression etched into his features.

Isaac shrugs, dusting his hands off on his jeans, "He's an easy man to imitate. Senile, cranky, a fucking dick." He starts to stand, only for Wash to gesture him to remain seated, sinking down onto the grass beside him.

"I know how you feel. When I first met him, it took a lot of convincing for him to believe I wasn't a 'dirty blue'." Wash's voice drops, gruff and sharp like the Red Team leader himself.

Isaac chuckles lightly, "I would have paid to see that."

"My point is, Felix, that he takes some getting used to. Everyone else might be fine, but Sarge has always been a little slow on the ally uptake. He doesn't show it, but he cares about those guys more than anyone I've ever seen."

"Then why the hell does he treat them like that? Grif's life is threatened every other day."

"Couldn't tell ya, guy's more emotionally constipated than Carolina. All I know is he wouldn't hesitate to lay down his life for any of them, _including_ Grif, despite what he claims." Washington offers a gentle smile, picking up a small stone and rolling it between his fingers.

"Guy could use some therapy."

"You're right on that one," the stone skips across water, both eyes watching it glide, "Red Team tends to follow his example, so don't toss him aside so easily." Wash stands, dusting off the back of his jeans, "you never know when a trigger happy, senile, old man will come in handy."

He pats Isaac's shoulder before starting back up the bank.

"Hey, Wash?"

He pauses, turning to glance back at the mercenary lost to the current of the creek.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

\-------------

He's dragging his feet over the hill, shoulders slouched and every ounce of his being wants to be _anywhere_ but back at Red Base. It doesn't stop him from approaching the group, Sam humoring Donut's idle attempts at translating his conversation with Lopez until he catches a glimpse of Isaac.

He offers a short nod of greeting before nodding towards Sarge, who's still fussing over the Warthog.

"Sarge," Isaac greets, shoving aggravation aside when Red Team's leader stands.

"The hell you want, dirtbag?"

"I," his jaw flexes and it takes everything he has to meet Sarge's gaze, "wanted to apologize. You've been running this team a long time, I was _wrong_ to step in." He can hear Sam's quiet snort behind him, well aware of how painful it is for the lean mercenary to admit when he's wrong. 

"Apology accepted, it seems you villains can learn a thing or two from us after all." He claps Isaac on the shoulder.

"Lucky us." It's a lifeless agreement, fighting back frustration and exasperation as his eyes turn to Sam's approving smirk.

"Now, with your insubordination resolved, how about you give me a hand with this warthog?"

"I'm not picking it up again."

"Lucky for you, _Lopez_ has volunteered to lift it. Locus mentioned something about you being good with an engine, let's find out if he's right." Sarge holds out the wrench towards Isaac and the mercenary casts a glance towards his partner, shooting him an appreciative smile before accepting the tool.

"Let's get to work."

\----------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks!  
> Well, here it is! The second to last chapter of Saudade! I'm so excited to finish editing the last chapter to so I can post it this weekend. :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much I as enjoyed writing it.  
> Please leave a kudo/comment and let me know your thoughts!  
> ~ Phantom


	12. Finally Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the journey home is the hardest part, but it’s a journey well worth it.

"You're nightmares are getting worse."

Isaac allows the heels of his hands to fall away from his eyes, stars and spots fading with ever blink.

"What?"

"You spent the night tossing and turning...and screaming." Sam doesn't look up from his sniper rifle, running a cloth over the scope for what seems like the hundredth time.

"They're not that bad," Isaac waves him off, pushing himself upwards from the bed and shuffling across the floor to wash his face.

"Really?" Skeptical inquiry.

" _Yes_. Now let it go," Isaac snaps, splashing cool water over sweat-slicked skin.

"Felix--"

"Let. It. _Go_." Isaac retorts, turning a meaningful glower on his partner.

Sam arches an eyebrow but turns back to the weapon in his hand, "Mason reached out."

The towel drops away from his face as he wheels about to face Sam, "What'd he say?"

"He was checking in, wanted to see if we had reconciled."

"And what'd you tell him?" Isaac arches an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

Sam levels grey on the lean mercenary, gauging the expression etched into his partner's features, "That it's a work in progress."

Isaac tilts his head, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth, "How very _Locus_ of you."

"What does that even mean?"

Isaac offers a shrug and turns back to the dated mirror, "You've always been a cautious guy, Ortez. You don't rush into things or jump to conclusions. You like to take things slow."

" _Experience_ has dictated--"

"--you rely a little too much on past experiences, Sam. People change and you gotta adapt."

Sam rolls his eyes and returns to reassembling his weapon, "sometimes caution _is_ the best adaptation."

Isaac waves him off as he shuffles back over to his cot, collapsing onto the sheets with a sigh, "Cautious is no way to live, Sam."

"No, but it's a good way to stay alive." Sam returns, deliberately avoiding Isaac's eyes.

"Fair enough," Isaac concedes, rolling onto his side to watch his partner give the rifle one final inspection.

"Ortez?"

He receives a grunt of acknowledgement.

"You ever think about leaving?"

Sam pauses, hesitant as he lays the weapon back on the table and turns to face Isaac, "Sometimes. Why?"

"Well, we've been here for a little over a year and half, and while the Reds and Blues and their petty bickering are _amusing_ , shouldn't we be doing something more? I mean, don't get me wrong, the guys are great and all, but, it doesn't feel right, you know?"

Sam nods slowly, "I know what you mean. Does this mean you want to leave?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Isaac scrubs at his face, rubbing at weary bags beneath his eyes. "I want to see Mason again, see the girls. I'm tired of this life, and while these guys have given us somewhere to _live_ , it doesn't feel like _home_ , Sam."

Sam hesitates, something so characteristic of his brother, Isaac almost laughs at the irony of it all so soon after their initial conversation starter.

"I miss them, too," the stoic mercenary admits at last, meeting Isaac's eyes across the room, "the last time we saw them, they were--"

"--just kids. Mel'll practically be an adult. And Miki? She's nearly out of high school." There's a shadow of a smile that Sam hasn't seen in years, "It'd be nice to see them again."

"Then we're going home."

Isaac sits up abruptly, a reaction, he believes Sam wasn't anticipating given the way his frame stiffens, "Just like that?"

"It's what you want, isn't it?"

Isaac starts to answer, but now, it's his turn to hesitate. For so long, they've done what Isaac wanted, and he doesn't like where it's gotten them. So, he swings his feet onto the floor and levels a solemn gaze on the larger mercenary, "Is it what _you_ want, Sam?"

There's a heavy silence in the room, one that Isaac dearly wishes Sam would break. He's tired of making the decisions, it's why they ended up in this mess the first time around. He won't make the same mistake twice. This time--this time Sam's taking the wheel.

"Yes."

"Then let's go home."

\----------------

Every nerve screams, every tendons pleads. It's a rush of sensations, it's nothing but shredding cartilage and shattering bones.

It's all he can remember, all he can feel, and yet, he's still free falling.

"Sam!"

He grapples for something, _anything_ to slow his descent, but it's too late. The rocks are close and there's no saving him now.

He's gone.

\----------------

Isaac awakes in a panic to Sam shaking his sweat-coated frame with something closely resembling terror in his eyes.

"Isaac!"

It takes a moment, but when he regains his bearings, slowly realizing how tightly he's gripped Sam's forearms, he recoils.

"What happened?" He croaks, eyes drifting to his trembling hands, throat dry from the screams.

"You had a nightmare." Sam loosens his vice grip on Isaac's shoulders, steadying his shaking form.

"God, it was so real." He murmurs, flexing his hands to try and regain some semblance of control.

"You're all right," Sam tries to assure him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, struggling to calm his own racing pulse.

Both sets of eyes snap to the door when Carolina and Washington stumble in, mirroring looks of concern and terror.

"Are you guys okay?" Carolina steps into the room, emerald darting in search of potential threats.

"We're fine, Isaac--"

"--had a nightmare. Sorry I woke you, guys." Isaac mumbles out an apology, eyes dropping back to the blankets tangled around his legs.

The siblings exchange a look, before Wash takes a cautious step closer, "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Felix--"

"- _-Wash_." Isaac cuts him short, lifting pained brown from the blankets to settle on the the younger Freelancer, "I'm okay. You guys can go back to bed. Sorry I woke you."

His voice is gentle, drained of the fire they've grown so accustomed to hearing. He shifts, straightening his blankets before sliding back down under the covers, rolling on his side away from his partner and the Freelancers.

Sam gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze and stands, ushering the others out, closing the door behind him.

They're talking. It's hushed and garbled through the door, but it's just clear enough for the lean mercenary to make out the end of their conversation.

"You sure he's gonna be okay?"

Wash. Always so considerate, always so worried about everyone else more so than himself.

"It won't be easy, but he'll get through this."

"We'll help where we can." Carolina's voice drifts beneath the door, and for a moment, she almost sounds like Vanessa. He rolls onto his back, zeroing in on her voice, eyes glued on the ceiling.

For a moment, he's back on Chorus, standing beside her and going over reports. For a moment, he isn't lying, for a moment, he isn't planning to betray her, for a fleeting moment, all is right.

"Dammit," Isaac mumbles, struggling, with everything he has, to brush the memory aside. He rubs at his eyes, tears pricking, soul screaming, guilt gnawing.

He slams the side of his fist against the metal wall beside him, as if pounding the wall will silence the memories. It almost works, but the collision startles the group outside the door.

Sam steps inside, Freelancers stealing a glimpse over his shoulder at the tense mess on the cot.

"Isaac?" Sam approaches, kneeling beside his brother, "Isaac, what's wrong?"

It's almost a whisper and Isaac can't find the strength or the words to answer him. Carolina gently nudges Sam back, allowing her to take a seat at Isaac's side.

"It's all right." She lays a hand on his forearm, her voice low and calming.

"It's not." He pushes her hand aside, pushing himself to sit up, roughly wiping away the tear stains on his cheeks.

"What's going on, man?" Washington ventures closer, kneeling beside Sam, quietly searching Isaac's defeated eyes for a single spark of life.

"Don't worry about it."

He jolts slightly when Carolina's hand rests on his shoulder, dragging his eyes up to meet emerald. There's a gentle smile etched into her features, something he never imagined he'd receive from the usually intimidating Freelancer.

"It's okay to be vulnerable, Felix. Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of, it's just an unfortunate part of being soldiers."

"It's not the nightmares, those I can handle."

Sam lets out a disbelieving snort, earning him a jab from Wash's elbow. The mercenary levels an annoyed look on the youngest Church, one that Washington promptly ignores in favor of asking the inevitable question. 

"Then what is it?"

 "It's stupid." he grumbles in response, winding his fingers into the blanket and clenching his fist.

"Gates," a chiding tone from Sam, "we talked about this."

"I know, I know. I need to open to the others more."

"This would be a good start."

Isaac's shoulders sag, "Fine." He lifts his gaze, hazel settling on Carolina's curious expression.

"Before you guys showed up on Chorus, Sam and I had already been there for a couple years. In that time, we got to know some of those people pretty well--at least I did." He swallows the lump in his throat, every ounce of his being screaming for him to stop there, but he pushes through. He needs to get past this, he needs some semblance of closure.

So, he squares his shoulders, gathering what remains of his dignity and looks to Carolina, "You sound a lot like Kimball. Same attitude, same tone, and, I guess--I guess I got some flashbacks. Not everything I said to Kimball was a lie, and it's the things I _didn't_ say that bite me in the ass now."

"Oh my God." Wash stares, "you were in love with her."

"I wasn't in love with her! It was a mutual respect." Isaac protests, turning a scowl towards the blonde Freelancer.

"No, I think Wash is right in this case." There's a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of Carolina's lips.

"I'm not with in love with her!" The lean mercenary bites back bitterly.

"They're right, Felix." Sam contributes coolly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh, don't you start too!"

"Have you talked to her?" Carolina interjects.

"No. I doubt she even knows I'm alive."

"Oh, she knows." Wash rubs the back of his neck, avoiding Isaac's gaze.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Caboose might've let it slip a couple weeks ago."

"I'm actually quite surprised that he made it this long." Carolina snorts, shaking her head.

"Then why the hell am I still alive? I would've thought their entire military would be knocking at our door."

"Kimball is still trying to sort out the whole freedom thing with the UNSC. They don't really want to let go of Chorus now that they know they had it at one point." Wash supplies, "so, she quite literally has been too busy to kill you."

"Thanks, Wash. That's very reassuring," Isaac retorts with a deadpan expression.

"I think what Wash is trying to say is that she, like you, has been too busy to cope with the full spectrum of emotion your survival no doubt brought back. You should talk to her."

"I'd be dead before I made the lobby."

"Not if we came with you." Wash jumps in, "Locus already got a full presidential pardon from Kimball for saving my life."

"It's not gonna be that simple, Wash."

"Isaac," Sam captures his attention, "it's something that needs to happen. We'll be there beside you, no matter what."

The lean mercenary glances between the Freelancers and his partner, shoulders sagging, "Alright. I guess we're making a stop at Chorus."

\----------------

"I don't like this idea." Isaac stares down the door and his feet are rooted in place.

"We made it all the way here, you can do this." Carolina lays a hand on his shoulder.

"Does she know I'm coming?"

"No. We thought it best to...surprise her?" Washington offers with a shrug.

"Right, because surprising the leader of a planet who no doubt has a gun nearby is a great plan."

"She's not going to kill you." Sam retorts evenly.

"Easy for you to say, you have the presidential pardon."

Carolina rolls her eyes and opens the door, stepping inside with Sam and Wash close behind.

"Kimball?"

"Agent Carolina, this is a surprise." The president of Chorus stands, offering a warm smile to the three visitors.

"Oh, the surprises don't stop here," Wash scratches the back of his head.

"What does that--?"

She never gets to finish. Sam steps aside and Isaac slowly shuffles inside the room, hands shoved in his pockets, frame tense and eyes bleeding warmth.

"Felix--you--I thought--"

"Hey, Vanessa." He tries a slight smile, eyes drifting across her face.

"You're alive. When Caboose said--I didn't think he was serious."

"Surprise."

The disbelief ebbs away, and Isaac wants nothing more than to shy away from the glare that grips her features.

"Why are you here?"

Isaac remains silent, looking anywhere other than the woman behind the desk. It isn't until Carolina elbows him and nudges him forward that he can find his courage.

"I came to see you."

"Why?" It's sharp, detached.

"Because," a quiet _fuck_ slips out under his breath and he unburies his hands, striding closer with more confidence than he has, "because I've spent too long running from my past. What I did here, what I did to _you_ , was wrong. No amount of apologizing will change that fact. But what I do hope to change is where I go from here."

Kimball eases herself to her feet, meeting the lean mercenary's gaze evenly, "Why?"

"Because you're important to me."

Kimball's expression softens, lips parted in something resembling shock.

"Not a day goes by that I don't think about you and wish that I could go back and change all of it." He leans on the desk, "I wanted to tell you, god, so many times what you meant to me. Every lie, every choice I made was hell because I didn't want to betray you."

"Then why did you?" her voice softens, violet darting across hazel, searching for an answer just out of reach.

"Because fighting in your war was a job. I wasn't supposed to get attached, I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you, but I did. And when it came down to you or the job, I chose the latter because I wasn't ready to sort through all the emotions. By the time I realized it, it was too late."

His voice falters for a moment, "I realize that what I've done is unforgivable, but I'm asking nonetheless because I need to know." His hand slides to rest on top of hers, hazel locking on violet with a desperation Kimball's never seen before.

"I'm sorry, Vanessa. Will you forgive me?"

She hesitates, indecision gripping her frame and Isaac's almost certain she's going to tell him to go to hell. He's surprised when she leans forward, lips brushing against his in a moment he'll cling to for the rest of his life.

It's brief, a whisper of skin and Isaac's not even sure it happened, but when she pulls back, hand sliding out from underneath his and she stands with her hands clasped behind her back, he tenses.

"You're forgiven, Felix. I don't know what you've gone through, what hell you've walked to come to terms with what you are, but it's enough. I can't promise you a home here on Chorus, it's not even safe for Locus. There's too much residual hatred for you two, but I can promise you that your reconciliation with your humanity will be noted and that might, one day, grant you a place here."

She's distant, but he can read the signs. It's a goodbye, a promise and a hope all at once.

"Thank you."

She offers a solemn nod, "Goodbye, Felix."

The corner of his mouth tugs upward, "See you around, Kimball."

He doesn't speak until they're nearly to the landing pad, lost in his own thoughts.

"So, you showed some emotion. Didn't know you could do that," Wash teases, nudging his shoulder with his elbow.

Isaac gives him a light shove, "Ha ha, very funny."

"Cut the man some slack, Wash, he just got rejected." Carolina interjects with a smile.

"I did not! It was more like closure. I'm fine."

"Right, which is why your face is redder than Sarge's armor."

Isaac glowers and drops in behind them, falling in step with Sam. He glances at his partner, "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Now who needs to open up more?"

Sam snorts, "Just thinking about what comes next."

"We go home."

"That simple, huh?"

"Its the logical next step."

"I hope you two aren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye." Carolina glances over her shoulder.

"We wouldn't dream of it."

\----------------

"Goodbye, Mr. Felix! Goodbye, Mr. Locus! We will miss you!" Caboose shouts, waving wildly as they board their ship.

Isaac can't help the smile that spreads across his lips and he turns to give Caboose a wave goodbye.

He turns away when the landing ramp closes and climbs into the cockpit beside Sam, "You ready?"

"Always."

Their ship lifts off, roaring into space towards home.

"Should we tell Wu we're coming?" Isaac smirks, already knowing the answer.

"Let's surprise him."

It's not long until they touch down on the landing pad. Every nerve stands on end as Isaac slips his pack over his head and he and Sam descend into the bustling crowd of the spaceport. It's not long until they reach the front porch and Isaac rings the doorbell.

They wait and there's scampering beyond the door before the bolt is released and the door swings open.

"Sam? Isaac?" Mason sets his pistol aside and pulls the door open further. A smile cracks across his lips and he tugs them both into an embrace.

"Hey, Wu. Miss us?" Isaac laughs, returning the embrace.

Sam looks uncomfortable, after all these years, he still isn't capable of handling hugs. So, he awkwardly pats Mason's shoulder and tries to smile.

Mason steps back, "Come inside. Megan! Girls!"

Megan Wu emerges from the living room, freezing in the doorway when her eyes land on the two mercenaries.

"Hey, Meg."

Mason's daughters come tearing down the staircase, Melody skidding just short of her mother and Mikayla nearly collides with her older sister.

"Girls, you remember your Uncles Isaac and Sam?"

They remain where they are and for a moment, Isaac's smile falters. They've no doubt heard about everything that's happened, their fall from grace and the fight with Mason. He almost turns to Mason and offers to leave until Melody steps past her mother, eyes darting between the two men before she gives Sam a hug.

He freezes and his eyes dart to Mason who smirks at the awkward mercenary's position. Slowly, he accepts her embrace while Mikayla darts over to Isaac and practically tackles him to the ground.

Isaac doesn't hesitate, winding his arms around his surrogate niece, "You guys got so big."

"That tends to happen when you're gone for a couple years, Uncle Isaac." Melody returns, stepping back and allowing Mikayla to give Sam a hug.

"You got your dad's wit, I'm so proud." Isaac snorts, giving her a quick embrace.

"They got their mother's smarts, too." Mason steps closer to Megan, who hasn't been able to find the words to speak.

The girls smile almost proudly and squeeze the mercenaries a little tighter.

Sam flinches and looks to Isaac for help. He doesn't know how to handle children and though he tries, he doesn't know how to handle affection either. So, when Mikayla's vice grip loosens, Sam steps back and tries to gather himself.

Melody steps off to the side and all eyes fall to Megan. She hasn't spoken and her grip on Mason's hand has tightened, almost as if she can protect him with the sheer force of her hand around his.

Isaac's the first to speak, "Meg, we owe you, _all_ of you, an apology. The decisions Sam and I made, the fight with Mason, it was wrong-- _we_ were wrong. We're sorry."

She nods slowly, releasing her grasp on her husband's hand and venturing closer. Her daughters step back and her gaze flickers between Sam and Isaac.

They wait in silence until a warm smile spreads across her lips, tugging them into a warm embrace.

"Welcome home, boys."

"It's good to be home."

\-------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> This is it, the final chapter of Saudade. It’s been a journey, for lack of a better word. I began this series a little under a year ago and I don’t think I’ve had this much fun exploring a character’s psyche as I did with Felix. :)
> 
> Thank you to all of y’all who stuck around and took an interest in this story, despite my…unreliable posting schedule. Y’all are fabulous and I love you!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this final chapter! :)
> 
> ~ Phantom

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks,
> 
> So this will be an ongoing series about our lovely trash can boy: Isaac 'Felix' Gates. The first chapter is something I started before the RVB Angst War and Fluff Week on Tumblr. If you'd like to contribute a prompt to continue this story, I am most definitely taking requests! :)
> 
> Feel free to leave a kudo and a comment to let me know what you thought!
> 
> ~Phantom


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